And The Dream Of Paris Preys On My Bones
by Citizen Chauvelin
Summary: [Scarlet Pimpernel Fic] Chauvelin's life story! Come on, we've all wondered...
1. Armand The AntiSocial

**Ok, here's the deal. I've been wanting to do a life story for Chauvelin for a while. And now that I've been taking a break from Soon the Moon Will Smoulder, I'm going to get to it. Only I think I have a bit of explaining to do as to why I am portraying Chauvelin in the manner that I am. First off, I have read the book, and fully appreciate the fact that Chauvelin was born into an aristocratic family, but inthe musical, Chauvelin is by no means an aristocrat, and I have taken him to be rather the opposite. If you don't like it, sorry. In regards to his personality, I have always seen Chauvelin as anal retentive, terribly bitter, quick to anger, highly irritated, and a bit of a packrat.And for some reason,Chauvelin struck me as the most sarcastically hysterical child ever.As an adult, he's bitter and sarcastic. Take away the bitterness, which comes later, and you've got kid Chauvelin, who probably entertained himself by going around and biting people in the ass with sarcasm. Hence, the way I'm portraying him. So that's him. And in my justification of this little detail, his aids in the musical, Mercier and Coupeau, seemed to me to be much more than just aids. They went with him everywhere,and instead of beating them for spilling humiliating information, hesilently mouthedfor them to shut up. You don't do that to people you command, you whack them upside the head and get new aids. Nope, they stuck around the entire play. That seemed to me to be more than just commander and subordinates, hence my decision to make Mercier and Coupeau childhood friends of Chauvelin. **

**Wow...that went on for way too long...sorry. Get reading.**

**Disclaimer: Scarlet Pimpernel is not mine. Neither is Chauvelin. Sad day.**

**And The Dream Of Paris Preys On My Bones**

**Chapter 1: Armand the Anti-Social**

It was very rare that a common whore would go through with a pregnancy and bear a child. It was hardship enough to get by, and several months of being unable to work certainly did not help any, nor did the prospects of having another mouth to feed on the same pay. No, it was really quite detrimental to everything, but still, Gabrielle Chauvelin had gone through the idiotic process and had given birth to a son.

The child was more of a motivation for living than anything else. She did not want a child, she wanted to live, and the hard conditions of the profession had destroyed her will to continue living. That was all this boy was for; to give her something to live for. But still, she had been very young then, and was very young still, no more than five and twenty.

Of course, it was times like this that made her wonder why she had even considered having the boy in the first place.

For the fifth time in three weeks, the French National Guard was standing outside the establishment, the head of the division yelling at the owner, and two other soldiers were struggling to keep hold of a viciously squirming Armand Chauvelin. Sighing heavily as she leaned against the window, Gabrielle looked out at the spectacle; no doubt that she would be yelled at on her son's behalf. Again.

The guards finally released the boy, and he dashed past the furious owner and into the house, slamming the door behind him. The owner turned to catch the boy, missed him, and angrily stomped to the door, grabbed the handle, and erupted in rage, firing off a long sequence of curses as he found the door to be locked.

Groaning, her head hitting the glass, Gabrielle cursed the day she had refused the tonic that would rid her of the child. Where were her senses that day?

The door quickly opened and no sooner slammed shut, her nine year old son bracing himself against the door, breathing very heavily. Eyes narrowing slightly, she quickly asked, "And what did you do this time, Armand?"

"Nothing, mother," the boy quickly replied pushing himself off the door and instinctively reaching out and grabbing something on the bureau, thrusting it into his pocket without another thought to it. "The National Guard makes a game out of harassing me."

"By your logic, the entire world is out to get you in trouble, Armand!"

"Merde, but that is true!"

Groaning in frustration, she said not another word about it; arguing with the boy was simply not worth the trouble. Her green eyes followed the boy as he walked about the room, mindlessly filling his pockets with whatever was not properly nailed down, no doubt to be stored in some secret place of his for safekeeping. The boy looked nothing like his mother in any way at all; she was fair and light featured, a stark comparison to her son's dark, brooding features. She really couldn't have said where the boy had acquired the jet black hair and pale yellow eyes, but it was certainly not from her. The other girls of the house were convinced that the boy was fathered by an aristocrat, motioning to the long, slender fingers and delicate features that were typical of the Noblise; it was entirely possible, as Gabrielle was known to be frequented by aristocratic clients on a rather regular basis.

"Honestly, Armand," the woman said, gently rubbing her temples, "you are a smart boy. Why can't you do something constructive for a change?"

Turning and looking at his mother, biting his lower lip, he paused for a moment and firmly stated, "Would you like me to build you something?"

"Armand! I will have none of that! You knew what I meant! Heaven knows where you get it from."

"My father, perhaps? He was a sailor last week, what is he today?"

"I am thinking a convict!" the woman snapped. "Armand, I go through all this trouble for you! Have you no consideration of what I suffer for your antics?"

Sighing softly, and thrusting yet another knickknack into his pocket, he tentatively embraced his mother. "I am sorry, mother. I shall try to be good."

"You know, you are all I have, Armand," the young woman said softly, gently smoothing back the ebony hair. "I do not know what I would do were the National Guard to haul you off to prison."

The door flew open, and a furious man, face completely red with rage, stood in the doorway. "Perhaps next time I will suggest that they do just that!"

"Jacques, please, he is just a boy."

"He is a menace, Gabrielle! I should throw the boy out on the streets to fend for himself!"

The green eyes widened in fear, and she threw herself at his feet, clutching his hand. "Please! I beg you, have mercy on him! He is only a child!"

Jacques struck the woman with the back of his hand, and Armand instantly ran to her side, carefully held the woman and lightly stroked her cheek where she had been hit. Viciously grabbing the boy's arm, the man ripped him from his mother's side. Grimacing slightly, more in annoyance than anything else, he looked the man in the eye and said in a quite sardonic tone, "What, monsieur? Paying attention to me? Is it a holiday?"

"I should have beaten you a long time ago, boy!" the man growled, removing his belt with his free hand. "Perhaps then you would have known your place."

"Oh, I am so frightened," Armand said in a bored tone, carefully examining his fingernails.

"Armand, please!" his mother called, weeping on the floor. "You are only making it worse!"

Growling in anger, the man cast the thin, small boy on the ground and viciously struck him. He flailed him repeatedly, pausing for only a second, during which the child casually stated, "When you're done, the back door is off the hinge. You may want to get on fixing that."

Turning an even more fierce shade of red, the man redoubled his efforts in teaching the child a lesson.

* * *

"What have I done to deserve such an idiot son?" Gabrielle wailed mournfully, lightly dabbing with a wet cloth at a large gash that her son had on his shoulder from the buckle of the belt.

"Not half an hour ago you said I was intelligent, mother," Armand said quietly, poking at the floor with his toe.

"I lied. You have the intellect equal to my bedpost."

"Oh."

"You stupid boy, why not do something to keep yourself out of trouble? Can you not make some good-mannered friends?"

Armand scowled in distaste. "Must I?"

"I insist." Standing up and patting the boy on the head, she nudged him toward the door. "Go out and do something. But heaven help me, Armand, if you find yourself in anymore trouble, I will be sure that you are appropriately punished!"

Slouching slightly and bearing the most cynical look on his face, the boy marched out. Breathing deeply, he made his way off the road and ran toward the fields of the nearby Viscount's estate. He lived in a small village just outside of the city of Calais, and there was really nothing to do there but work. Of course, the only option available to the people was in some way working for the noble that owned the land, and Armand Chauvelin would have nothing to do with it. Truth be told, he would much rather remain idle and cause problems for the lord. There was really nothing like the spectacle of watching an irritated Viscount order people around to correct a small error that had been severely blown out of proportions.

Slowly walking through the fields, he stopped, looked curiously at a boy in the field, on his knees, and eyes tightly shut. He didn't think that the boy could be any older than he was, and his mother had told him to make friends…

Taking a deep breath, Armand quickly strode toward the boy, stopped before him, firmly poked his shoulder and the boy jumped up with a start, hastily muttering apologies and excuses to no one in particular.

Eyebrow raised, glaring at the boy in confusion, Armand slowly asked, "What are you doing?"

Instantly calming down upon realizing that it was not his mother that stood before him, he quickly brushed himself off, ran his hand across his auburn hair. "I…I was talking to God."

A pause. "You what?"

"God," the timid boy stated, much quieter this time. "I was talking to Him…"

"You're a loony, you know that?"

"What? No, I just-"

"God isn't real, you know that, right?"

He gasped, stared at the incredulous boy in shock. Gaping, he managed, "Don't say that! He will hear you, and you'll go to Hell and burn forever!"

"Oh, I'm shaking," the boy said, standing perfectly still. "Look how I'm shaking all over. Terrible, isn't it?"

Groaning, the auburn haired child dropped to his knees and clasped his hand together in front of him. "Dear God, please have mercy on this poor soul. He didn't mean it. Much love, your friend, Coupeau."

Dropping to his knees and mimicking the other boy, he blankly stated, "Dear God, why am I talking to myself? Why do I not have an ounce of common sense in my head? Am I really that insane as to be talking to nothing? From Chauvelin."

Coupeau cried.

* * *

"My father is a tenant on Monsieur le Viscount's land," Coupeau said proudly, walking side by side his new friend back home. "When I am older, I will inherit his debt to the Lord and be forced to work the land until my son is of age."

"My father," Chauvelin said, swinging a stick through the high grass, "could be any one of about twenty men. When I am older, I am going to find him and thank him for paying my mother before I kill him and take his shoes." He indicated to his bare and dirty feet with the top of his stick.

Coupeau stopped for a moment and gaped at the boy. Walking a little slower and a little farther away from his pale-eyed compatriot, he softly said, "My mother works at home. I am the middle of seventeen children, and mother is going to have another one soon. My father hopes it's a boy, because I am his only son, and he fears I am going to be beaten to death by my sisters before I reach the age I can father children."

"My mother is the most favored whore of the town. She is often visited by aristocratic clients, and I have seen her with Monsieur le Viscount six times before. I am her only child, but every month she must drink a tonic that makes her sick and kills the new baby." Pausing for a moment and looking into the wide green eyes of his friend, he quickly added, "I should like to meet your sisters."

"I don't think my mother would want me playing with you."

"Nonsense!" Chauvelin cried, throwing his arm around the petrified child's shoulder. "Haven't you heard? Your mother and I are going to be married, and I shall be your new father!" Digging through his pocket with his free hand, he pulled something out and held it out to the boy. "Want a peanut?"

"No…no thank you."

Shrugging indifferently, he replaced the item back into his pocket.

"You can't marry my mother…"

"My name is Chauvelin." The boy proudly stated, effectively cutting the other boy off and paying no mind to what he was saying. "I think one day I shall leave this place and find an underground tunnel where I may live alone for the rest of my life."

"You can't leave from here," Coupeau said shyly as the yellow eyes turned cold upon him. "My father says that unless you are upper class, you will live and die in the place that you were born in." Pausing for a moment he quietly asked, "Why would you want to live in a hole in the ground away from everyone?"

"To be perfectly honest, I do not quite like people at all."

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"Good question." Without another word, Chauvelin turned and walked away, leaving a very stunned Coupeau alone in the middle of a field.


	2. The Art of Thievery

**Ah, these are fun to write!**

**Disclaimer: Chauvelin, sadly, is not mine. Mercier and Coupeau aren't either, but theye personalities bolong to me!**

**And The Dream Of Paris Preys On My Bones**

**Chapter 2: The Art of Thievery**

"I had the most splendid idea!"

Coupeau groaned, rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep, but the shaking would not stop. Squinting up at the boy who leaned over him, who was grinning like an idiot, he groggily asked, "Have you any idea of the hour, Chauvelin?"

"No. Well before dawn, I would imagine."

Groaning, the boy turned over and pulled the sheets over his head. This crazy man was gone, and he was all alone in a nice, happy place…

He suddenly hit the floor with a thud as his leg was forcefully yanked, and he felt himself being dragged along the ground. "Chauvelin! What are you doing? Stop it!"

"Listen, Coupeau. I had an idea." Chauvelin whispered, placing his hand over the other boy's mouth to quiet his complaining. "We want to leave the town, right?"

"Not really…"

"Yes you do. Do you want to be stuck in this place forever?"

"My father says-"

Hitting the boy upside the head, he quietly snapped, "I _know_ what your father says, Coupeau. You have only told me a thousand times. We were born here, we will live here and we will die here, _I know! _But…" He paused, smiling smugly and making sure that the boy shifted uncomfortably before he continued. "But, that only applies to the _poor_."

"Chauvelin, we are the poor…"

"Not after what I have planned…"

Coupeau gulped, made himself as small as he could in hopes that Chauvelin would be unable to see him, but those predator-like eyes remained on him. Chauvelin was smart, perhaps a bit cruel, and he never did anything without a reason. Shifting uncomfortably, he meekly asked, "What do you have planned?"

Grinning in utter joy, he quietly said, "Come with me."

The two boys left the house as quietly as possible and ran low to the ground through the field. They finally came to the small town, and Chauvelin stopped just behind one of the buildings, back pressed flat against the wall, Coupeau following his every movement. He had known this boy for only a week, and already was he breaking into his house in the middle of the night. Leaning over to him, he quietly asked, "What are we doing?"

"The tailor has been ordered to create a new wardrobe for the Viscount. He has finished, and it is to be delivered early this morning." Motioning around the corner and cautiously peeking into the ally, he whispered, "There's the cart that will be delivering the shipment. All we need do is hide ourselves in one of the chests that will contain the clothing, and we can sneak into the manor with little difficulty."

"Chauvelin, why…" Pausing, hanging his head in disbelief, Coupeau wondered why he even bothered ask the reasoning behind the tiny boy's actions. The boy was touched in the head. "Why are we doing this?"

"To be perfectly honest, I ruined another pair of pants running away from the soldiers and I am in sore need of a new pair."

"You woke me up in the middle of the night to get you a new pair of pants?"

Chauvelin shrugged. "Consider it a shopping trip."

"It doesn't matter what I consider it to be!" Coupeau sternly whispered. Lowering his voice again, he asked, "Running away? What did you do this time?"

Shrugging again, he flatly stated, "I took the captain's hat."

"You _what_?"

"His hat," he firmly restated. "You should see it. I have it back at home. Far too big for me, but I imagine I will grow into it. One of those tri-corner things, don't you know."

"You stole the captain's hat? Chauvelin, that's wrong!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Thou. Shall. Not. _Steal_. That is one of God's ten sacred laws, Chauvelin! If you break those, you are damned for sure!"

"Nonsense, Coupeau," the boy said as he patted the preaching boy on the head. "Those rules only apply to those who can afford to follow them. If I were not to steal, I am certain I would die. Would your God rather see me dead?"

"At least you would die with a clean soul!" Coupeau cried mournfully, hanging his head in desperation. "And those rules apply to everyone. And I am firmly resolved to believe that you do not need that hat to survive."

"You're talking crazy talk again. I am quite certain that Monsieur le Viscount or Monsieur le King or Monsieur le Pope made that up so they can go about their merry way stealing from us without us stealing it back." Looking curiously at the distraught child, he added, "And I am quite sure the hat is a necessity. It may well one day come to represent the manliness of me."

"You must return it…" Coupeau groaned as he slid against the wall and sat upon the ground, holding his head in his small hands, gently rocking back and forth and whimpering slightly.

"What? Coupeau, don't be ridiculous. What would I say? 'Here, Monsieur Soldier. I am returning your hat.' He would likely already have a new hat by then and I would be chased again, and I do not have another pair of pants to risk for that cause. That's why we're out here in the middle of the night waiting to steal the Viscount's clothing in the first place."

"Chauvelin!" the small, flustered boy cried as he jumped to his feet and menacingly shook a finger at the thief. "You must return it. Otherwise when you die, Saint Peter is going to look at his book and say, "Chauvelin, you stole a hat, so you have to go to Hell, you wicked thing!'"

Sighing slightly and laying his hand upon his friend's shoulder, Chauvelin soothingly stated, "I'll tell you what. If when I die I find myself surrounded by clouds and angels and harps and such, I shall return the hat. Deal?"

"I believe you are a lost soul, Chauvelin."

"Well, at least I don't believe that there is magical old man that lives in the sky with all my dead pets. Come now." Chauvelin swiftly turned the corner and ran to the cart, Coupeau following cautiously behind him.

It was a strange friendship, and in the very best of cases, an extremely unlikely one. Aside from their circumstances, the two boys shared nothing in common. Coupeau was a meek, timid, God-loving boy who was more than willing to accept his lot in life and move on with his day. He was quiet, gentle, very friendly and always looked for the best in all people. He followed and stayed by Chauvelin because he saw it as his task as bestowed upon him by God and his duty as a good Christian to save the poor boy's soul from eternal Hellfire and damnation.

Chauvelin was rather the opposite. Even at such a tender age as nine, he was already horribly cynical, dryly sarcastic, and thoroughly irritated by everything. He was restless in the small town, and thoroughly strived to find a way out, his attempts often landing him in trouble with the local authorities, but he continued to try; he was certain that he was meant for something bigger than a useless life in the nowhere town he called home. He saw things as they were and did not hesitate for a moment to point out his cutting observations in a less than gentle manner. He put no stock in anyone, mistrusted most, and had little time, use, or patience for religious worship, considering it to be little more than a rather weak protection of the harsh reality and inevitability of death, and saw the people who followed it's practice as fools; in short, he did not believe what he could not see, and the absence and seemingly careless higher being fell into this category. He befriended Coupeau for the sole reason that the boy embodied everything he saw as foolishness, and the child was quite simply very easy to belittle and mock, which was a source of endless amusement for Chauvelin.

But despite their differences, the two stuck by one another, and at times, almost cared for each other. But Chauvelin was not to be changed, and Coupeau was not to be turned from the path of God, which possibly only made their bond stronger, as both were determined to fix the other to their own liking, and would not quit until it was done.

Chauvelin and Coupeau crouched behind the cart, carefully looking about for any sign of movement. Nothing. "Chauvelin, I don't think this is right. We should go back."

"Quiet, you idiot. If you don't like it, you should have said so before."

"I did, Chauvelin!"

"No, you lectured me on the moral wrongness of stealing."

"Is that not what you intend to do?"

"What are you two doing?" The boys froze, slowly turned and looked wide-eyed at a boy standing before them. He was no bigger than they were, and Chauvelin instantly took this as a sign to disregard him.

"No matter of yours, I should think."

"If it has anything to do with that cart, then you had better believe it's my matter."

Chauvelin stood, clearly irritated and looked the boy straight in his eyes. "Why is that, boy?"

"Because this is my father's cart, and I am to watch it and make sure thieves like you do nothing to it."

"I'm not a thief…" Coupeau said quietly, tightly ringing his shirt. "I tried to tell him-"

"And what would you do about it?" Chauvelin asked, scoffing at the boy. "You are no bigger than I. Some guard against thieves."

"No, but I have three older brothers who would sooner become women than allow anything to be touched. All I need do is call for them." The black-haired boy suddenly fell quiet, and he smiled quite smugly. "Now, what are you doing?"

"I need a new pair of pants and I thought I'd take them from the Viscount."

"Oh." Quickly looking the boy over and taking notice to his badly worn pants and almost sickly thinness, he quietly said, "Hold on," and disappeared into the house. He emerged a few moments later, arms full of clothing and dropped them at the boy's feet. "Here."

"Wha-? You can't…I mean…he just…but the Viscount…" Coupeau's sense of up and down had just vanished.

"Thank you!" Chauvelin chirped happily, picking up some of the garments that lay on the ground.

"You can't take those!" Coupeau cried, and was suddenly faced by two very cold glares. "I mean, that's stealing. Those are for the Viscount…"

"So?" both boys asked in unison.

"Stealing is wrong…"

"Let me ask you something," Chauvelin said firmly, turning to the boy that had brought him the garments. "You are the tailor's son?"

"Yes."

"And the Viscount ordered this stuff, right?"

"Correct."

"Now let me ask you. How much is your father being paid for this?"

"Nothing. Monsieur le Viscount is calling it his rent dues, though my father had paid the rent at the beginning of the month. He threatened to take away the home and business if he did not comply."

"I see." Turning to Coupeau, Chauvelin firmly asked, "Now, in what way is the Viscount not stealing, Coupeau?"

"I…"

"Exactly." Smiling broadly, he said, "We are merely taking what belongs to no one."

"But the tailor made it! It's his! You're stealing form him!"

Sighing in frustration, Chauvelin thrust his hands into his pockets and withdrew something that he forced into the tailor's son's hand. "Here. Payment. Are we agreed?"

"Yes…" Looking at the thing in his hand, he quietly asked, "Corn?"

"Yes. You can eat it."

"Corn grew last season. This can't be edible."

Shrugging, he casually stated, "Oh well. It makes a lovely decoration." Looking the boy in the eye, he softy said, "You're smart. What's your name?"

"Mercier."

"I'm Chauvelin, and this idiot is Coupeau. What does your mother do?"

"She's dead."

"And what about your father?"

Mercier's face grew stern and very cold. "We do not talk of him."

"Oh, I like you!" Chauvelin cried happily, patting the boy on his shoulder. "Coupeau and I are going to leave the town forever and go to the city. How would you like to join us?"

"But, Chauvelin!" Coupeau said pathetically. "I don't want-"

"Shut up."

"Are you really going to leave?" Mercier asked, his face filling with hope.

"Absolutely. My mother always said to me, "Chauvelin, get out of this town. There is nothing here for you, and you are meant for greater things.'"

"Really?" Mercier asked quietly.

"No."

"Oh…"

"But I'm still getting out," Chauvelin said staunchly, picking up his clothing and grabbing Coupeau's hand. "You are welcome to come along, but I must take this one home. I shall see you tomorrow then?"

"Without a doubt."

"Good," he stated, dragging a complaining Coupeau behind him.

And so they became three.


	3. Never Thought That Could Happen

**Drama ensues!**

**Disclaimer: I'm getting really tired of writing these. Can we just assume that everyone here knows that these characters aren't mine?**

**And The Dream Of Paris Preys On My Bones**

**Chapter 3: Never Thought That Could Happen**

Mercier and Chauvelin hit it off right away. The two boys were remarkably similar, and the tailor's son provided and excellent middle ground between the extremes of Coupeau and Chauvelin. A bitterly cynical child, Mercier grudgingly accepted his place in the town as a virtual nobody, lacking completely the drive to better his lot in the world, opting rather to stay behind closed doors and allow life to roll by. He made no motions to do anything rebellious, and sneered in contempt at rules and authority, though he followed both without question, dragging his feet and grumbling about it the entire time. However, the boy was a closet optimist, though an impassive one. He hoped things would change for the better, but waited for circumstances or others to do it instead of taking charge himself. Religiously indifferent, he accepted those who worshiped and those who didn't all the same. He held no qualm with any, for he had no real opinion, and therefore no argument against any other. He clung to Chauvelin because he saw the hope for a better future in the boy, and the dark-haired youth possessed the dynamic to get out and change what he thought should be better. He was a leader and a guidepost, and Mercier was in sore need of direction and the urging to get out and make a difference.

It had been a rather quiet day, and Mercier sat with Coupeau in the tall grass, laying on his stomach and playing with a weed while absentmindedly listening to the other boy preach and lament about the trouble he was having with the reckless other. And it had been like this that the quite afternoon was disturbed by the uncharacteristically thrilled whoreson.

"Boys! I have an idea!" Chauvelin cried as he plopped down next to Mercier.

Coupeau sighed heavily. "Does it involve breaking the law, causing havoc, making a mess, or somehow creating a riot in any way? Because last week at the guard tower was quite enough for me."

"Bah!" said Chauvelin. "You ruin every good time with your morality, you know that? No, no, this is more of a realization followed by an idea."

"What is it?" Mercier said, leaving the plant alone and focusing his pale blue eyes on the other.

Grinning devilishly, Chauvelin calmly stated, "The Viscount's son has just gotten a tutor."

"That's it?" Coupeau asked sceptically. "That's all you have to tell us?"

"Think!" Chauvelin cried, springing to his feet. "His little son now has a tutor, meaning that the boy is going to learn to read and write!" The boys stared blankly at him, and he jumped up and down in frustration. "Damn it, men! Do you know nothing? Why do you think les aristos are in such a better position than us?" Again with the blank stares, and Chauvelin flipped his lid. Viciously grabbing on to Coupeau's collar and pulling him to his feet, he violently shook the boy. "_You imbeciles!_ They can read and write! _They can read and write_! Christ, do I have to spell everything out for you?"

Calming down and releasing the trembling boy, he smoothed back his ebony hair and, much calmer, stated, "How often do you think they write things up and have us sign it so they can milk us for all we're worth? We can't read it, so we can't know what we're signing. But…" Slowly pacing back and forth, he quietly said, "But if _we_ are literate, they can't take advantage of us anymore. We'll be free."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Mercier asked calmly. "I have never known anyone who can read or write, and my family is in a better position than you two. Tutors are expensive, so we can't hire someone to teach us."

"No," Chauvelin said, smiling with the most evil look on his face, "but the Viscount can. All we need to do is listen in on the little bastard's lectures, and we can learn it, right?"

"Chauvelin, I don't think that is honest," Coupeau said quietly. "I mean, we won't be paying for the lessons."

"No, but someone else is. The man is getting paid to teach, not to whom he teaches."

"Well," the timid boy said, digging his toe into the ground, "I guess that's alright…"

"I somehow do not think that reading and writing is as easy as that, Chauvelin," Mercier said, standing up and brushing himself off.

"Perhaps not, but we shall learn."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" Coupeau asked, suddenly feeling much more confident. "Monsieur le Viscount won't just let us into his estate to learn from his son's tutor."

"No, but I know where the brat is educated, and it is easy to look into. All we need to do is sit at the side of the house, and we can see and hear the lessons."

"Alright, I'm in. When do we start?" Mercier asked, stepping toward the boy.

Grinning maliciously, Chauvelin laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, leaned in close, and smoothly drawled, "Now, my good man."

* * *

As it so happened, Chauvelin was extremely apt at languages. Once he had learned the alphabet, the rest came extremely easily, and he was fluently reading and writing in a few months. The other two, however, were not nearly as quick to learn, and while Chauvelin was bored out of his wits as he easily passed through the lessons as they were taught to the Viscount's son, Mercier and Coupeau were struggling as they fell behind. Respectively giving up in boredom and frustration, the three boys abandoned the lessons of the tutor and happily accepted back their free afternoons. 

It was one day that the three were walking through the meadow that Chauvelin suddenly stopped, turned to Coupeau and said, "You still have not let me meet your family."

"Chauvelin, understand this. I do not think you are the type that I would bring home to show my mother. She may have a heart attack that I am associating myself with such a ruffian."

"Don't be stupid. I can read and write. That makes me respectable!"

"Chauvelin, I don't think that's what makes a man respectable," Coupeau said meekly. "You pride yourself in the rules you break, and you blaspheme as much as you can. Last week you set that monk's robe on fire, and I am pretty sure that gets you a ticket straight to Hell."

A pause. "But I can read and write."

Sighing heavily, Coupeau hung his head; it was pointless to argue. "Yes, Chauvelin. Yes you can."

"Doesn't that make me respectable?" Chauvelin asked, turning to his blonde friend.

"I should say so," Mercier responded.

"See? I should like to meet your family."

"But why?" Coupeau whined. "I am certain it breaks a commandment…Honor thy mother and father…letting you meet them is a direct violation of that rule. You're a menace!"

"You know, I am thinking that these rules of yours need to be rewritten," Chauvelin said quietly, kicking a stone across the ground. "'Thou shall not steal', what kind of crap is that? The rule rather be 'Thou shall not starve'."

"I can't believe this…" the auburn-haired child groaned, shaking his head.

"Fear not, my friend, for I shall break you of this nasty habit yet!" Chauvelin proudly stated, slinging his arm over the meek boy's shoulder.

"What habit?"

"Religion."

"What? Chauvelin, no!"

"Come along, boys. Coupeau may be afraid to introduce us to his family, but I shall have you meet mine! Come, we're off to see my mother."

Coupeau blanched. He knew full well that Chauvelin's mother was a whore and lived in a brothel – a house of _sin_ – and he would have to go inside, for he could not fight the overtly dominating will of his falcon-eyed friend. "Lord have mercy on me," he whispered under his breath.

The trio arrived at the establishment and found a huge amount of commotion and panic. Stepping back in slight confusion, Chauvelin carefully stepped to the door and slowly pushed it open and found himself immediately flung into the arms of one of the girls of the house, gripping him tightly and sobbing. Quickly looking over her shoulder, confused as ever, he saw the entire room filled with flighty and frightened women and soldiers, on of which the owner was currently yelling at all the while doing the his best to ignore the screaming accusations of one of the girls.

He had finally managed to pull himself out of the girl's arms and his pale eyes quickly looked around the room. He heard Mercier quietly whisper in his ear, "Is it always like this in here?", and he quickly shook his head, quietly hissing, "Never." Eyes flying open in concern, the small boy took of in the direction of the stairs and his mother's room; the woman was nowhere in sight.

Pushing past some of the soldiers as he ran down the hall, he forced his way into his mother's room, and…

He couldn't breathe. There was no doubt that it was his mother lying there, but the woman was pale with deep purple markings on her neck, completely still, with not even the movement of her chest when she breathed, and she was staring at the ceiling with glazed, unblinking eyes. He was rooted to the spot, could do nothing at all, not speak, not cry, not anything, and one of the women soon took him from there.

He was carried back downstairs, and no sooner had he been put on the ground had the owner of the house affixed a firm grip on the boy's arm and led him out the front door, the other two boys following silently. "Out," he growled firmly as he cast the thin, trembling boy into the street.

"Jacques, please!" one of the girls called, rushing outside to the boy that lay teary-eyed on the ground. "Have some compassion! He has nowhere to go, and his mother-"

"It is because of his mother that he was here in the first place, and now that Gabrielle is gone, I want him out! He is of no use to me. Now, get back inside, woman, lest I cast you out as well."

Gasping and holding her breath, the woman gave the boy a tight squeeze, kissed his cheek, and smoothed back his hair before standing and retreating back into the house, Jacques slamming the door behind him as he followed.

Chauvelin was stunned, to say the very least. One moment, all was well, and the very next…Oh, he didn't know what to do at all. Sniffling slightly, he pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, put his head down and began to cry.

Mercier slowly approached the boy and knelt in front of him, gently pulling the sobbing mess into his lap and absentmindedly stroking his hair. He didn't need to see what had happened to know that the boy's mother was dead; he had suffered through a similar episode a few years back. "Everything is going to be alright…"

"What happened?" Coupeau asked quietly, carefully approaching the two boys.

"I think his mother has gone to the hereafter."

Gasping slightly, standing still for a moment, he placed his hand on Chauvelin's head and quietly said, "It's alright. She's with God now."

"_There is no God!_" Chauvelin hissed viciously, glaring at the boy with cold, hard eyes. He had said that phrase a thousand times, yet there was something different about the way he said it this one time, something that hurt inside him to actually say it. Before, he said it mechanically, based solely on what his nature had told him to be true. But this time, he had meant it with every fiber in his body, and it was painful to say it like that. Without another word, the child dissolved into a fit of sobs.

Draping the boy's arm over his shoulder, Mercier gently lifted him up, supporting the full of the child's meager body weight. "Let's go, Coupeau."

"Where are we going?" he asked softly, crying quietly on his poor friend's behalf.

"Your house. He needs a place to stay, right?"

Nodding slightly, Coupeau grabbed the boy's other arm and helped to support him, leading the way back to his home.


	4. Family Values

**Yeah, after this one, I'm cutting back on the drama for a long while.**

**And The Dream Of Paris Preys On My Bones**

**Chapter 4: Family Values**

"Oh, you poor dear!" Coupeau's mother cried, pulling young Chauvelin's head against her chest. Her son and Mercier had explained the entire situation to her, and the woman was simply aghast at the child's current situation, so the woman bestowed every affection imaginable upon the desolate boy. Suffice it to say, it was the most affection that Chauvelin had ever received in his entire life.

Despite that the woman had an obscenely large family to care for and feed, she had still managed to provide Chauvelin with his own room, at the expense of six of her children, and fed him like a king, though he would have none of it. The moment that he had been situated, he immediately retreated to the room he had been assigned, and closed the door, perched himself on the windowsill, and looked sightlessly out the window, never moving an inch.

For an entire week, the boy sat like that and did not move, on occasion dissolving into quiet sobs, sometimes choking on his breath, rarely sleeping and never speaking or eating. Every now and again, Coupeau would stick his head into the room and check to see if the boy had moved, hoping beyond all reason that he would answer when he called his name. He prayed for the young Chauvelin nearly every hour, pleading to God that if he did nothing else, to return the soul to the broken child, for he was still so sure that the boy was not lost.

And finally, one day when he had been picking at the meal that his mother had put out for him, Chauvelin slowly walked out of the room, much thinner and much paler than when he placed himself in there, but he was alive, and Coupeau nearly cried because of it. Gently laying his hand on his friend's shoulder and softly smiling, Chauvelin walked out of the house, saying not a word, and Coupeau followed, bringing with him the remainder of his lunch so that he may feed the starving child.

* * *

"My mother," Mercier said, casting a stone into the ocean from the cliff, "she was everything to my father. One day I found her in her room with a man I have never seen before. He was on top of her, and my mother was yelling for help, and then she just stopped. The man hit me, and when I got up, my father was holding her and crying. She died," he said casually, picking up another rock and throwing it, "and my father has never been the same since. He never speaks to my brothers and I and he goes out late and comes home drunk and beats me sometimes." 

"That's awful!" Coupeau said, eyes wide with shock and concern as he was feeding Chauvelin.

Mercier shrugged. "After a while, you get used to it. It still hurts, but you come to expect it and know what's going to happen."

"Does he hit your brothers too?" the auburn-haired child softly asked.

"No. My brothers are men. They fight back, and my father has learned that he can't hurt them." He shrugged. "Only me."

"My mother," Chauvelin whispered, "she always protects-" Pausing, realizing what he was saying, and choking back a sob, said, much softer than before, "She _used to_ protect me from the house owner. He would beat me if he had the chance, but my mother would always protect me the best she could." He stopped for a moment and looked at the blonde boy throwing rocks into the ocean. "Do you believe in God, Mercier?"

The boy shrugged. "I haven't really given it much thought. I'm too caught up in the hardships of everyday to really pay heed to something that can't help feed me or my brothers or make my father stop beating me. It's hard enough to get by without being preoccupied with pleasing God too." Taking note of Coupeau's shocked expression, he added, "But it doesn't mean He's not there. I just really couldn't care either way."

Chauvelin shifted slightly and curled up into a ball. "I don't believe."

Coupeau shook his head. "I can't see how you don't. Isn't it a bit comforting that your mothers are living forever in a better place, and one day you shall see them again?"

Chauvelin glared at the green-eyed boy and sneered in contempt. "Not at all."

"Why? I don't understand…"

"Think on it this way, Coupeau. If I was so sure I would see my mother again when I die, what's stopping me from throwing myself off this cliff right now so that I may see her this moment?"

"I…but, suicide is a sin, Chauvelin…"

"And with your mentality, so is lust. Both my mother and I would be in Hell, but we would be together. Knowing that there is nothing after this life is far more comforting. There's more of a reason to live. This is all I have. Once I'm dead, it's all darkness and nothing. I am afraid of that, Coupeau, and that fear keeps me alive."

Coupeau was stunned and looked at the boy accordingly. "I…I have never thought of it that way before…"

Chauvelin turned on the ground and said nothing more.

"What do you take of it, Mercier?" Coupeau asked quietly.

"Me? I think it's a nice thought, Heaven and all, but Chauvelin's idea suits me just fine as well. I really don't remember my mother much, so it's nothing to look forward to and nothing to miss."

Chauvelin sat up and looked into the light blue eyes. "You don't remember her?"

"Not really, no."

"How could you not? She was your mother, for the love of all things holy! She was with you most of your life!"

"Well, yes, but…" He sat on the ground, placed his head on his hands. "She died when I was seven, I think, and no matter how long she was there, you start to forget when you don't see her anymore and she becomes just a memory, and soon even that starts to get blurry. It's hard to remember when the thing you're missing is gone, and soon I think you start to believe that it never was there, even though you knew it was once."

Curling up again and softly beginning to cry, Chauvelin quietly said, "I want to remember her forever."

Smiling softly and running his hand through the ebony hair, Mercier gently said, "As you forget, the pain goes away until it's just a dull ache and then nothing at all. You'll always remember a little, but the sharper the image, the sharper the pain. Time dulls it all, I suppose. And then you just have a scar where the hurt used to be, but the memories are always there. Just less clear and a little distorted, but you can look on them fondly without any pain at all."

"You really know a lot, don't you, Mercier?" Chauvelin said quietly, feeling just a little bit better.

"I've been through a lot." Patting Chauvelin on last time on the head, he stood up and brushed himself off. "Come on. Let's get home."

Nodding slightly and feeling all the better for having them, Chauvelin stood up and slung his arms over Mercier and Coupeau's shoulders and walked back to the village side by side them. Yes, friends were a good thing.


	5. Buttons, Buckles, Ruffles and Lace

**Sorry! This chapter isn't very good, but I'll get things rolling in the next.**

**And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 5: Buttons, Buckles, Ruffles and Lace**

Despite how close he was to his mother, Chauvelin had managed to put aside grief of her death rather quickly and return to a state of relative normality. Of course, normal is being used in the loosest of terms. He, Mercier and Coupeau became extremely close because of the incident, and his quick recovery was due largely in part to the efforts of the other two to be as good as possible to the grief stricken boy.

The three were never seen apart except for at the end of the day when it was time to return home, and even then, Chauvelin and Coupeau remained together, as the timid boy's mother had taken the orphan whoreson into her home with open arms, much to the horror and dismay of her only son. Mind you, Coupeau loved Chauvelin, but he was certainly not the type that he wanted living in his good, Christian household; the dark-haired boy may well have been the antichrist for the way he behaved.

Though a bit more quite, a bit more morose and bitter than before, Chauvelin continued on in his usual fashion,with the tiny wheels in his head spinning at triple the rate as before, trying to find a way to get out of the miserable hole he called home. He had become broody and reclusive, so when he had finally broken the silence between himself and his friends with his usual cry of, "I have an idea," even the wary Coupeau jumped at the thought that his friend may be returning to his usual state of temperament.

Of course, that hope was fleeting, as the child had instantly began spewing what he considered in his mind to be nonsense, and he merely stared at him gaping. "An aristocrat?"

"Have you ears, boy? Yes, that's what I said."

Heavens, he was serious. "An aristocrat. You want to become an aristocrat."

Chauvelin turned to Mercier with an incredulous look upon his face. Pointing at Coupeau, he asked, "Can you believe this? I do not think he understands. Am I not speaking French?"

"Yes, but I do think you need to elaborate, Chauvelin. The idea seems a little farfetched on its own."

Sighing slightly, he dropped down to the ground, waiting for the other two to do the same before he said, "Look. We can't leave unless we have money, right?" The boys nodded. "And only aristocrats have money, so I think we need to become aristocrats."

"You just don't become aristocrats, Chauvelin!" Coupeau cried, waving his arms about as though it would prove his point. "If it was that easy, don't you think more people would become so?"

"Right. That's why we're going to do it my way."

"Oh God…" Why? Why him?

"And how do you suggest we manage that?" Mercier asked, scooting closer to the boy as he became more interested.

Smiling evilly, he patted the boy upon the head. "You can do that for us, my friend, and I'll handle the rest."

"What? Me? How?"

"You're a tailor, Mercier. All you need to do is fit us with the proper clothing, and I am sure we could pass as them."

"I can do nothing of the sort. My father's the tailor, and I am certain that he will have nothing to do with your games, Chauvelin."

He stared at him for but a moment before having a fit. "Damn it, Mercier! This is not a game!"

"No, but my father would see it as such, and I speak to him as little as possible."

"What about your brothers?"

"Two of them are just like father."

Chauvelin stood up and walked away from the two. They were obviously not going to help him, and he needed this done. Of course, he could think of no other way to do it but like this. Sighing in irritation, he ran back over and swiftly kicked Mercier in the leg, groaning in irritation as the boy yelped in pain. "What about your other brother? Can he help?"

"I don't know, maybe…"

"Good. Talk to him."

"Chauvelin, listen," the flustered boy said as he stood up, rubbing his leg, "he's responsible. He's not just going to go and throw away expensive fabrics so we can pretend we're aristocrats."

"So you tell him that it's an investment."

"A what?"

Chauvelin shrugged. "I don't know, I read it in a book somewhere, but I figured if you used a big word, he'd be impressed and help."

"No, I don't think so."

"Alright, then listen. I've figured a way that we can get rich and free your parents from any debt they owe the Viscount." Both boys were suddenly standing awestruck before the boy, staring at him intently, waiting to hear his secret. Smiling cunningly, he quietly said, "We become aristocrats, get into one of the Viscounts parties, and we gamble for it."

He stared at him for an entire minute in silence before Coupeau whispered, "That's a sin, Chauvelin, and very dishonest."

"Is everything a sin with you?" Chauvelin sneered. "Shall I ask you before I take a step for fear I may be sinning? Oh, I'm sorry, Coupeau! I took a breath! Is that a sin? And besides," he said softly, calming down a bit, "if you win it fairly, how is that dishonest?"

"But, Chauvelin, gambling? What if you lose? You have no money to bet…"

Gently placing his hand upon the boy's shoulder, he leaned in close and quietly said, "They don't need to know that, now do they?"

"You are a wicked child and will grow to be a wicked man."

"I thank you."

"I will not help you with this, Chauvelin," Coupeau said defiantly, turning away and crossing his arms.

"Come. I'll take you to my brother," Mercier said, grabbing Chauvelin's hand and leading him away. Coupeau looked at the boy, stunned, and when they did not return as he had hoped, he went running after them.

…

"_My eyes_!"

The three had arrived at Mercier's home, thankfully no one home but his eldest brother, Marlon, who had been the one that was dubbed "the nice one". They had barely had time to say anything before Chauvelin went about the house in a wondrous daze, occasionally pulling things from God knows where and putting them into his pockets. It hadn't been long before the boy disappeared entirely, only to be located again by his sudden yelling. The three rushed about the house and found the boy standing before a long mirror, staring at it mouth agape and terribly confused.

Sighing, Mercier quietly stated, "Yes, that's a mirror, Chauvelin. What's wrong with your eyes?"

"Mercier, they're _yellow_!"

"Yes, I know. They're quite unusual. Would you mind not wasting any more of my brother's time?"

"Sorry." Managing to pull himself away from the mirror, he excitedly said, "I have never seen one of those before." Pausing, smiling slightly to himself, he happily asked, "My mother's eyes were blue. I must have gotten them from my father." Puffing his chest out in pride, he declared, "Have you ever heard of such an eye color before?"

"Yes," Coupeau said firmly. "Only once before."

"Really? Oh, do tell! Where?" he asked, very excitedly.

"Oh, I don't know," Coupeau said indifferently, lightly kicking at something upon the floor. "Maybe…Satan?"

"Really? Oh, how very thrilling!"

"Boys, if you don't mind," Marlon interrupted gently, "I do have quite a bit of work that needs to be done. What is it you need?"

He quickly abandoned Coupeau, and Chauvelin swiftly said, "I would like very much if you would make the three of us aristo's clothing so that we may pass ourselves off in that circle."

He looked at the boy for a moment and threw his head back and laughed, causing the ebony-haired child to narrow his eyes in anger. "Do you know how much that costs, boy? You must be joking. And to waste that much on a whim? And you couldn't pass as them, even with the clothing."

"What?" Chauvelin hadn't expected that. The clothing made the man, right? "Why not?"

"They come from different stock than us. They look different."

"No, we look the same! Look, Coupeau's pretty enough, and Mercier doesn't look so bad either!"

Sighing softly, he knelt before the boys and looked their leader in his eyes, gently grabbed his chin and examined his face. "You, maybe. You have the features for it. And your other friend, he may as well. But my brother, no, it's not possible."

"But _why_…"

"He's not fair enough. He's too harsh looking. And even if you could look like them, you don't have the mannerisms. You'd be found out before you crossed the threshold."

Oh, that was it. No, he would not lose now. Calling after the man as he turned to leave, he quickly said, "I can read!"

He quickly turned around, looked at the boy in disbelief. "Can you now?"

"Yup!"

"Well, that's a different matter." He knelt before the boy again, quickly looked him over, and apologetically said, "I'm sorry, but we just can't waste the materials. What is the point?"

"I think I can get the deeds for the house and land you live on so you will owe the Viscount nothing. It can be yours."

The man's face dropped. "You cannot do that…"

"I think I can," the gold eyed child responded.

Those eyes were strangely sincere, and Marlon got the feeling that he could trust the boy, even though he sounded crazy as Hell. Smiling slightly, he quietly said, "Alright, let's take your measurements."


	6. Onward Ho

**Getting the ball rolling here. After this one, this entire fic will be much better. Promise.**

**And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 6: Onward Ho**

"Double or nothing!"

The young Marquis sighed, picked up the cards and looked the hopelessly drunk Viscount de Garnier in the eye. "Monsieur, I would highly recommend that you reconsider your decision," he said calmly, actually making an attempt to get the man to back down. "You have already lost a substantial amount of money in this manner, and frankly, I do not believe that your bank account can handle another loss."

"Oh nonsense!" the Viscount cried, leaning back in his chair. "I have it, don't I, boys?" he slurred, looking nearly in the direction of his nearby servant.

Indeed, the poor man looked hopelessly frantic, wringing his hands and in a soft, urging voice, responded, "I am afraid that the young Marquis is correct, sir. As it is now, you have lost most of your wealth."

"Bah!" said the man as he hiccupped slightly. "Alright, Monsieur…Monsieur…I'm sorry, your name again?"

"Chauvelin, sir."

"Yes! Yes, of course. Very well, but I think I may win yet! Here, I shall bet some of my land against you, if you shall put some of yours up as well. Lovely place, that Agnew, and I should like to have some land there!"

Sighing hopelessly, Chauvelin shuffled the cards.

Five years had done little to change Chauvelin or the two boys he had come to call family. He was still cynical, still small for his age and still terribly thin. But he did become handsome as his fine features became more prominent, which gave cause to believe that he was, in fact, of aristocratic decent as he had so often been told as a child. And he was intelligent, dangerously so, and very cunning and a touch reckless. He had spent the past years teaching himself to act like an aristocrat so that he may infiltrate their ranks and steal from them all he could so he and his friends could finally leave the drab town. He had also become a bit of a card shark, extremely good at winning and skilled in cheating when he was losing.

Which was the case here, though he had no need to play unfairly. The man was quite possibly too drunk to hold the cards, let alone to differentiate between them. But still, it seemed a bit unfair, and not even the ruthless child was willing to take advantage of this man anymore. He had only hoped to get enough money to possibly buy the land the Mercier and Coupeau's families lived upon so they would no longer be held by the Viscount's power, but the man had continued to bet, and he was on the verge of bankruptcy. And Chauvelin didn't exactly want that…

No, no, forget it. Damn the aristocrats.

…

"Fifty thousand francs!" Coupeau cried, staring at the stack of paper bills in front of him. "Fifty- Chauvelin! You must return them!"

"I got the deeds to half his land too!" he said proudly, holding up several rolls of parchment. "See?"

"Chauvelin, what is he going to do when he wakes up today and realizes that he has nothing?" Coupeau wailed, banging his head against the table, trying to talk some sense into the beaming boy.

"I imagine that he'll say 'Oops' and start taxing the hell out of the people."

"Chauvelin," Mercier said quietly, smiling slightly as he handled a stack of the money, "taxation is bad. That's what's hurting us so badly. We are taxed off our asses by everyone. We don't need this additional burden."

"Ah, but my friend," Chauvelin said smoothly as he pushed himself out of his seat and draped his arm over the blonde boy's shoulders, "that is what the land deeds are for. The aristocrats are only allowed to tax their own land. I now own half his property, both your families land included. And I won't make you pay any taxes." He grinned broadly. "Aren't I nice?"

"You're a rotten, wicked, and dishonest sinner!" Coupeau cried, quickly standing up and shaking a finger at the smug boy. "Chauvelin, it must be returned!"

"See this guy?" Chauvelin asked Mercier quietly, pointing at the fuming auburn-haired boy. "He supports one of the institutions that tax us to death. Should I listen to the prattling of an idiot?"

Mercier thought for a moment, shook his head. "You won it fairly, so I think you should keep it."

"Mercier!"

"Shut up," Chauvelin said quietly, gathering up his papers and the stack of bank notes and stuffing them into his bag. "It doesn't really matter. I can assume Monsieur le Viscount is going to be royally pissed." Grinning, placing one hand on each boy's shoulder, he smoothly stated, "We have no choice but to leave."

"What? Why?" Coupeau asked carefully, not wanting to hear the answer. This couldn't be good…

Chauvelin shrugged and indifferently said, "I told him that I had two servants named Mercier and Coupeau, and if he remembers anything, we're going to be in a huge amount of trouble. Come along."

Mercier quickly nodded. "Let me go home. I'll get my things."

But Coupeau was on the verge of tears. "How could you, Chauvelin? I'll have to leave my family…"

Grabbing the boy by the shoulders, he firmly said, "Coupeau, listen to me. There is nothing for us here. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in this town? Do you really want to live in a family with twenty two sisters? Get with it, man! We can do something with our lives! Look what we have already done! Not yet men and we have driven a Viscount to bankruptcy. Who does that?"

"Satan and his minions of sin and evil."

"Oh, nonsense! We are smart, Coupeau. We can change the world!" Thinking hard for a moment, he gleefully cried, "Think of it! We can be warriors of freedom! Liberte, egalite, fraternite, ou la mort!"

Coupeau stared at his beaming friend for a few moments before blankly asking, "Did you make that up?"

Blinking a few times, his chest swelled and he proudly affirmed, "Yes. Yes I did."

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life, Chauvelin. Liberty, equality and brotherhood; here? In France? Don't make me laugh!"

Chauvelin suddenly looked very hurt. "What? I think it's quite the good saying. I imagine the people will take to it quite well."

Coupeau thought about this, shook his head. "No, I think not. Not if the cry is for death instead of liberty. It rather be something about liberty, or a nice array of pastries. Everyone loves pastries."

He stared at the thoughtful boy for a moment before smiting him. "Get packed and say goodbye to your family. We're leaving."

"No!"

There was a loud banging on the door, and the two boys froze as Coupeau's mother answered it and they saw several soldiers at the door. They didn't wait to hear them ask for Mercier, Coupeau, or Chauvelin, for the falcon-eyed boy had grabbed his petrified friend's hand and his bag with the deeds and the money and jumped out the window.

…

"Why are we going back here?" Coupeau whined as Chauvelin dragged him toward the brothel where he used to live. "Every time we come here, someone dies…"

"We have only been here once, and that was bad timing," Chauvelin sneered. "And remember my hat?"

"You mean the one you stole?"

"That one. When they kicked me out, I didn't have time to fetch it. I need it for our trip. Remember? That whole thing about me being manly with it?" There was no answer from the boy, so he continued. "Well, I have decided that it is also terribly, terribly sexy."

"It's what?"

"I may get many a woman with that hat!"

He groaned and let his head hit the pavement as the sinister child continued to drag him by the leg to the brothel. What a day. Hardly noon and they had already become rich, were being hunted by the National Guard and were on their way to a whorehouse. Wonderful.

They arrived at the establishment, and Chauvelin threw open the door as if he belonged there and marched inside, several pairs of eyes following him as he waltzed into the room. One of the women recognized him and she ran to him, threw her arms about the slightly confused child. "Chauvelin! I have missed you!"

"Chauvelin, why do you know this prostitute?" a rather terrified Coupeau asked from the floor, but he quickly stood up as he thought of all the things that could have been on the floor that he most certainly did not want on him.

"Sibylle, how have you been?" Chauvelin asked quietly, ignoring his compatriot and recognizing the woman.

"Not bad at all. What are you doing here?"

"I have come to retrieve my things. Come with me?" The woman nodded and walked beside him as he went up the stairs to what he had once called his room. "May I ask something, Sibylle?"

"Of course."

"My mother," he grunted, pulling something out from a compartment in the wall, "how did she die?"

The woman shrugged. "Just bad timing, really. Strangled. It was an accident, of course. Just a hazard of the profession."

"Who did it?"

"Who is to say? The last one we saw her with was some old drunkard. Does it really matter all that much?"

Stuffing his pockets full of whatever it was that he stored in the compartment and withdrawing his hat, he quickly brushed it off and placed it on his head. "No, I suppose not. Come on. I'm done here." They walked down together, and just as the enterer the main room, Chauvelin was face to face with the owner, Jacques.

"What are you doing here?" the man growled, standing over the boy and looking quite intimidating.

"What? You still alive?" Chauvelin asked, genuinely surprised. Of course, this only succeeded in making the man all the more furious. He grabbed on to the boy's arm, and with the other hand raised to strike him, Chauvelin quickly pointed behind him, eyes wide with fear, and yelled, "Look out! Whores!"

The man was shocked by the sudden out burst and quickly released him and spun around to see what the child was pointing at. Grinning maliciously at the idiot, Chauvelin firmly planted his foot and his rear and the man was knocked forward, his head hitting with a sickening thud upon a sharp corner, and the man fell to the ground and lay still. "Oops," said Chauvelin.

One of the girls carefully approached to look at the man, gasped and jumped away as blood ran over the floor. They all stared for a few moments and noticed the complete lack of movement. One of the woman quietly whispered, "Jacques is dead."

"Bah!" Chauvelin declared, waving his hand carelessly. "He was broken anyway. It was time you got a new one."

"Well," Sibylle said, placing her hands upon her hips, "good riddance to that bastard."

"I should go," Chauvelin said, grabbing his trembling and scared stiff friend.

"Bye, Chauvelin," Sibylle said, waiving to him. "Come back and visit sometime soon." She watched the boy head to the door. "Oh, and Chauvelin?" The boy turned, and, winking at him, stated, "Sexy hat."

Chauvelin grinned like an idiot and pulled Coupeau to Mercier's house.

…

"Ready?"

"Yes," Mercier said, slinging the small pack across his shoulder.

"Good. Let's go."

The three boys walked past the town gates with little difficulty, as the entire guard was searching the city for the thieves. Those thieves, of course, had just left the town limits.

"I have never been this far away from the village," Mercier said quietly as he looked back on the town.

"And good riddance. I certainly won't miss it. And mark my word, I am never coming back here again," Chauvelin spat, his head held high.

"I didn't get a chance to say goodbye," Coupeau sniffed, tears slowly filling his eyes. "I'll never see my family again…"

Chauvelin looked at the boy for a moment before softly grumbling, "Alright, maybe we will come back some day…"

Coupeau's eyes lit up like the sun and he threw his arms about the dark boy, which earned him a swift backhand to his head from the irritated boy and helpless laughter from the blonde. And what a little band of merry men they were.


	7. Girls Are The Devil

**Ah, yet another chapter. I super like this one. Review! Waa!**

**And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 7: Girls Are The Devil**

"I think, boys, we need a plan."

The two boys groaned and Coupeau had the gall to throw a small twig at the self proclaimed leader. "We wander all this way, and you finally decide that _now_ we need a plan?"

"Chauvelin, did we not already have a plan?" Mercier asked quietly, fiddling with something he found upon the ground. They hadn't been gone from the village for a week, but they were already without direction, and being that none of the boys had ever seen a map, they had no idea where they were going. So there they sat, at the side of the road, waiting for Chauvelin to direct them somewhere.

"What, you mean the 'Drive-The-Aristocracy-Into-Bankruptcy' plan?" As the boy nodded, Chauvelin quickly shook his head. "No, that was more of a mission. We need a _plan_."

"Oh. Well, what have you in mind?"

The boy grinned, turned over on to his stomach. "Here, I was thinking last night about this, and I finally decided that it is just the sort of plan we need." He paused, made sure he had their full attention, before discretely saying, "We need to get women."

Silence. Flushing terribly and looking at the shifty-eyed boy in abject horror, Coupeau quietly said, "Chauvelin, women are the devil!"

"Nonsense, you silly boy. Isn't it one of God's commandments, 'Thou shall have women'?"

"No! No, Chauvelin, it isn't!"

"See, that's why your religion is stupid," Chauvelin said firmly as he pushed himself up and went to his bag.

"Where did you get this idea?" Mercier asked quietly.

"I don't know," the boy replied, digging through his bag and pulling out some paper and a small bottle of ink he had stolen from a travelling priest a few days ago. "I was lying where we slept last night and though, 'Gee, wouldn't it be swell if I had a woman right now?' and the thought stuck."

"Ah. Another question, Chauvelin? What are you going to do with this woman once you get her?"

Chauvelin stopped what he was doing and stared at his friend for a moment before saying, "I don't know. I haven't thought of that yet." He quickly scribbled something down on the paper with a stick he dipped in ink and leaned against a tree, holding the paper up. "Here, Coupeau, listen up. Your commandments are stupid and outdated. I'm rewriting them."

"You can't do that!" Coupeau cried. "God's laws-"

"God's laws are dumb and no fun at a party. Here is the new set of laws we are going to follow. I call them, 'The Laws of Chauvelin'."

"You can't-"

"Number one," Chauvelin firmly stated, glaring at the timid boy and effectively silencing him. "Thou shall not starve. Number two, thou shall have women." Smiling smugly he proudly stated, "They are good rules, yes? I only have two now, but I'm sure I'll think of more."

"They are awful, immoral and wrong, Chauvelin!"

"I kinda like them," Mercier said, shrugging.

"Oh good. And so it shall be that Chauvelin's Laws go into effect. And the world did rejoice."

Coupeau looked at his friend angrily. "God is going to smite you for your evil, Chauvelin."

"Oh?" Looking at the sky and holding his arms out, he called as loud as he could, "God, if you object to my far superior rules, smite me now." Nothing. Grinning evilly, he quickly followed up, "God, if you exist, smite me now." He stood still, Coupeau looking at him in anticipation, and after a few moments, Chauvelin smugly said, "See? No problem." He picked up his stuff and started down the road. "Come along, girls. We have quite the ways to go before we get there."

Picking up their stuff and running to catch up to the boy, Mercier asked, "Where are we going?"

"Rome, of course. All roads lead to Rome, right? And we're following a road, so we're going to Rome."

"Oh. Well, that's pretty cool."

Chauvelin smiled smugly. "Yes. Yes it is."

…

"Are you sure this is Rome?"

Chauvelin hit the auburn-haired child upside the head. "What do you think, idiot? It's a town on the way to Rome. This is too small to be a city. And there are no soldiers running around with funny helmets. Not Rome."

The boys walked in silence to what they thought was a decent looking establishment, according to Chauvelin, and entered. Huffing in irritation at nothing in particular, Chauvelin marched up to the counter and loudly cleared his throat to get the attention of the man making bread behind the counter. Putting his things down, the man went to the front counter. "Can I help you boys?"

"Yes," the boy said firmly. "We need to know where we are, and where there is an inn in this city. We have come all the way from the town of Audruica, and we're tired."

The man stared at the deadly serious boy. "Audruica?"

"Yes."

"That's not all that far away, boy. And you're in the town of Coulogne."

"Oh." He paused, thought very carefully before blurting, "And how far is that from Rome?"

"Rome? Goodness, boy! You're trying to get to Rome!" The man laughed, which only made the steely boy all the angrier. "Rome is heaven knows how far away. But Calais is only a day's walk from here."

"Calais…" The boy pondered this, seemed to think it a good idea, but then quickly shook his head. "No, no, we need to stay here for a while. Calais isn't part of the plan. Now, if you would please direct us to an inn, we may commence with getting ourselves some women."

The man's face dropped and he was speechless for a moment. "It's the two story building a little ways down the street."

"Thank you!" the boy chirped, and took his friend's by the arm and dragged them out. After a few moments of silence, he quietly said, "Alright, so we won't go to Rome. But Calais sounds nice. Didn't Calais sound nice?"

"I like it here, Chauvelin," Coupeau said quietly. "It reminds me of home."

"Yes, and there's a noble's estate over there. We may be able to get some more money." The inn was easy to find, and the three marched in, Chauvelin quickly going to the counter and demanding from the owner, "I need a room."

The man adjusted his spectacles and peered at the stone faced child. Frowning slightly, he asked, "How old are you, boy?"

Chauvelin shrugged. "I can't remember. Fourteen or fifteen, thereabouts."

"You're far too young. I can't rent a room out to you."

"What!" Chauvelin cried, slamming his hands upon the desk. "Why not? I have the money! Whatever happened to equality, hmm?" Getting irritated at the man's inability to understand that he would much rather sleep on a bed then on the floor, he jumped up and down, shouting, "Liberte, egalite, et fraternite!"

Looking at the boy in wonder, the man quietly said with tears in his eyes, "That is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard."

Chauvelin quickly reeled around and looked at Coupeau in a far superior manner. "I told you it's the best saying in the world."

"But, my boy," the innkeeper said apologetically, "I have little room."

"We shall take whatever you have. What is the cost?"

"One livre a night."

"Done. Let it be known that we shall be here for a long term engagement." Smiling happily, he quietly said, "Show us to our room, Monsieur."

…

Coupeau looked about the room and became mildly terrified; there were only two beds. The second they had entered, Chauvelin threw his things on to the bed by the window, firmly stating, "Mine," and went to lay down, his hat pulled over his face. That left he and Mercier to fight over the other. And Coupeau was awful at fighting. "Chauvelin…I don't want to sleep on the floor."

"Then don't. You can share with Mercier."

Coupeau paled. That was worse. "But, but Chauvelin…do we get to switch sometimes?"

"No."

"Chauvelin, that's not fair! How come you don't have to share a bed?"

Chauvelin lifted his hat up and glared at the boy. "Because I'm the leader, that's why."

"Who said you're the leader?" Coupeau whined. For a man who preached fairness, Chauvelin wasn't very fair. "Why do you get to be the leader?"

"Because I have the hat."

"Oh."

He sat up, dangling his feet over the side of the bed. "And now that we're established, let's commence with our plan." Grinning slyly as he stood up and adjusted his hat to his liking, he threw his arms around his friends' shoulders. "Time to meet the ladies."

…

Coupeau decided that he was quite frightened. No, frightened wasn't the proper word. Terrified was better. Coupeau was terrified, and he looked so as he sat tense and trembling upon a chair at a table, his eyes darting about the room and surveying the wonderful display of sin that was around him. The entire tavern was full of women, and Coupeau had decided that he did not like them. Not at all.

However, his two friends did. Coupeau put it off as them having weak moral fiber, unlike himself, for these girls were frightening, vile seductresses. He was quite sure that they worked for Satan. After all, the succubus was at Satan's left hand side. He didn't see an immediate problem with them, other than having taken Chauvelin, his leader and protector, away from him, leaving him to sit and cower alone at a table in the corner. So, since neither Chauvelin nor Mercier had the sense to avoid the foul servants of temptation, Coupeau felt it his duty to look after the two boys and be sure that hands from Hell did not snatch them away from where they sat.

At first, it had been fine. Just the two boys sitting with the girls and talking. Perhaps they were not minions of the devil after all. But when he finally looked over at Chauvelin after he thought he could relax, there were two of the women sitting upon his lap, running their hands everywhere, and it was then that Coupeau knew that they were sent from Hell to lead men into sin. And, as it was his duty, Coupeau rose from the chair, took a deep breath, asked God to protect him, and marched over to his friend. "Chauvelin."

The boy looked up at his friend, a euphoric look on his face. "Hmm?"

"Chauvelin, I cannot allow this to continue. You have to get up and leave the company of these creators of sin and _evil_!"

"My, my, aren't you a cute little thing," one of the women said coyly, smiling as Coupeau blushed furiously.

"Mmm…yes, isn't he?" Chauvelin said quietly, gently nudging her off his lap. "Why don't you go get to know him? I think you will find his company pleasurable."

Coupeau's jaw dropped; they had already gotten him. He panicked. "Chauvelin, they have stolen your soul! Don't fall to the darkness! Fight it!" But he found himself being pulled away by the woman back to the table he had been sitting at. He mindlessly sat down, the girl sitting opposite him, blocking his view of Chauvelin. He was sure he wasn't gone yet. He was just hypnotized, was all. They didn't get his soul yet…

"So, tell me about yourself," the woman drawled, taking his hands and rubbing her leg against his under the table.

Coupeau thought he was going to be sick. He looked her in the eye, suddenly unafraid, and firmly stated, "My soul belongs to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and is not yours for the taking, demon." She said something, but Coupeau ignored her, craning his neck over her and to her side to try to get a look at Chauvelin, and…

The woman that sat with Chauvelin was straddling him, her hands cupping his face, her lips covering his own, and Coupeau stared in horror at them; she was sucking his soul out through his mouth. Coupeau was about to get up and save his unfortunate leader form the grasp of the corrupting demon, but Chauvelin's hands suddenly latched themselves to the woman's waist and he pulled her closer. Coupeau was half inclined to believe that Chauvelin was enjoying it, but that couldn't be. The very touch of sin was supposed to burn with the fire of a thousand flames. Why wasn't he screaming?

Chauvelin and the woman suddenly stood up and, the girl leading him by the hand, they left through a back door. Coupeau finally got his senses together and followed them. He _had_ to save him from eternal damnation. He had quietly snuck through the door, and, as softly as he could, slid against the wall, trying as hard as he could to not make a sound. He inched down the hallway and stopped just outside a door and pressed his ear against it.

His eyes widened in fear as he heard soft moaning, whimpering and crying out that was no doubt coming from his friend, and the evil giggles of the woman. Without pausing for a moment, he ran full speed down the hallway and back into the tavern and threw his arms around Mercier's neck, crying in absolute panic.

Frustrated by the idiot interrupting his quite pleasant conversation with one of the girls, he pushed the boy off of him and snapped, "What's wrong with you?"

"The minion of Satan took Chauvelin's soul and now she's_ torturing_ him!"

"What are you talking about, stupid?"

"Who's your friend, Mercier?" one of the ladies quietly asked.

Sighing at the realization that his good time was about to be ruined by the prattling of this madman, he sighed, quietly said, "This is Coupeau."

"Oh, he's _adorable_!" the girl cried as she quickly held the now weeping boy's head to her chest. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Coupeau's green eyes met the woman's and, sniffling, said, "My friend's soul was stolen by a seductress and women are the devil!"

"Oh, you poor thing!" Coupeau was instantly surrounded by women who were petting his hair, gently cooing small comforts to him and fluttering about him like mother hens. Mercier fumed, as for some reason, his timid friend now held the attention of every girl in the room. So much for getting women.

…

"And then we were forced to leave the town because Chauvelin upset the Viscount." The group gasped and clung on to the boy that lay across the laps of four women and surrounded by several others. "And then…" he sniffled, grudgingly continued. "We got lost, and now we're here and I didn't even get to say goodbye to my mother."

"That's terrible! Oh, you poor, poor thing!" one of the girls cried as the child brought the story of his life to a close.

"I know, isn't it? And now Chauvelin's soul is gone, and I don't know what to do with my life!"

The group had collectively started crying as Coupeau did, all of them trying to somehow clutch onto the boy and give him what comforts they could, when Chauvelin stumbled out of the back room, face completely flushed and extremely dishevelled. Swaying slightly, he swaggered to the table that Mercier was sitting at, far away from the group and glaring viciously at the weeping auburn-haired child. Chauvelin plunked down next to him, heavily dropped his hand upon the boy's shoulder and plainly stated, "I love women."

"Yeah? Well so do I, but the weeping one has taken the one I wanted away from me."

Chauvelin looked over at Coupeau, back to Mercier, and pointing his thumb over his shoulder, said, "The woman I was with is still back there. You could try her out." Chauvelin purred and slunk down in his seat with the happiest look on his face. Mercier ran into the back room.

Sighing in content, the boy pushed himself up and walked almost drunkenly to where Coupeau lay with all the women. Putting his hat back on his head, he good naturedly snapped, "Hey, Coupeau. Button up, we're leaving."

There may as well have been a halo around Chauvelin's head the way Coupeau looked at him. Without delaying any longer, he threw his arms around the boy, and the girls collectively went, "Aww…"

"Chauvelin! My Chauvelin, you're alive!"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"And your soul's back!"

"Umm…yes?"

He pulled away and held him at arm's length. "Did it feel sinful and evil and painful like vinegar in your eyes?"

"What? No, no, it…" An intoxicated smile spread across his face and he started getting a little woozy again. "It was very nice, and enjoyable and extremely pleasurable, and I am going to make a point to do it more often."

Coupeau's jaw dropped and his hands flew to his face. "He's lost! What has the devil woman done to you, my Chauvelin?"

Rolling his eyes, he took a hold of Coupeau's collar and dragged him away, calling, "Goodbye, ladies. I shall see you in the very near future."

The two waited outside until a dazed Mercier walked out of the tavern and the three walked back to the inn, Chauvelin and Mercier swaying slightly as they walked with euphoric expressions on their faces, and Coupeau lamenting over the loss of their souls.

They staggered up the stairs and fell onto their beds and sighed in content as Coupeau set to work praying for the return of the souls of the two boys. "Hey, Mercier," Chauvelin called lazily from where he lay. "Thou shall have women is the best commandment ever, don't you think?"

"Oh yes."

Grinning like an idiot, he laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes. Life was good.


	8. The Miller's Son

**God these are so much _fun_! Ugh, love to write this! Oh, review! Justify my work!**

**And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 8: The Miller's Son**

The three stayed in that town for three weeks, doing really nothing in particular during the day and making frequent visits to that tavern in the evening, Mercier and Chauvelin indulging themselves in whatever pleasures they so desired, and Coupeau lamenting about the his troubles and his sorrow over the fall of his friends into the hands of Satan. That is, until one of the girls gently explained to him exactly what his friends were doing in that back room, and he began preaching against fornication. And one day, he just stopped, much to the delight of his compatriots and soon no longer accompanied his friends to the tavern in the evenings.

But still, life remained wonderful for the boys, even though Chauvelin refused to buy food, despite the fact that he had plenty of money to do so. He was intent on saving every bit of the money he so cunningly swindled from drunken aristocrats, an activity that he did often, claiming that mooching was a perfectly respectable way to get by.

All the boys, even the hard to please Chauvelin, were thoroughly content in the small town and were really not very anxious at all to leave. They had even taken the time to locate a decent plot of land where they could build a home for themselves, for none had the desire to pick up and move elsewhere.

"Where's Coupeau at?" Chauvelin asked quickly as he ran up to his friend.

"Don't know. Haven't seen him around."

"Pity." The two suddenly stopped as they came upon a crowd of people lining the streets. Looking at each other in confusion, they pushed their way through and into the street which was completely empty except for the horse of the nobleman they just stepped in front of. Snarling in contempt, the noble snapped, "Out of the way, you filthy plebeians."

This only managed in making Chauvelin angry. Lifting his head in defiance, he slung his pack over his shoulder and firmly said, "And who are you to order me about?"

"I am the Marquis de Coulogne, and I own this land and all the people in it. Now do as I say!"

"People can't belong to other people!" Chauvelin cried, becoming violently angry. "And I have as much right to be here as you! You're no better than me!"

The crowed gasped, and Chauvelin smiled defiantly as the Marquis became much angrier. "We are free men, and no one can tell us what to do! Liberte, egalite, et fraternite!" He grinned in pride as the people began talking amongst themselves, his little catch phrase heard very often. Looking back up at the Marquis, he shrugged and said, "I've got some nice land in Audruica that I will sell you, if you like."

The Marquis lifted his eyebrow, looked sceptically at the small dirty boy with dirt on his face and no shoes on his feet. "Do you now?"

"Yes," Chauvelin said as he plunked down on the road and shifted through his bag, withdrawing several rolls of parchment. "Come now, get off the horse and we'll talk about a decent price."

Cautiously, the Marquis dismounted and took one of the pieces of parchment and looked it over. "Good God, this is real…"

"Yes, yes," Chauvelin said dismissively. "It's good farmland too. I can't let it go for less than sixty thousand francs."

"What? That's insane! Do you know how much that is?"

"Yes, and have you seen how much land this is? It's good land, and I cannot let it go for any less."

The man seemed to consider this before firmly stating, "Forty thousand."

Chauvelin shook his head and began putting the land deeds away, but the Marquis quickly stopped him and muttered his agreement to sixty thousand. They made a quick exchange, and the Marquise was off and Chauvelin, grinning like an idiot, rejoined Mercier and they walked out into the fields.

"Was it really worth that much, Chauvelin?" Mercier asked after a long silence.

Chauvelin shrugged. "I'd say half that, but who am I to say? Land means nothing for me, but the Noblise is crazy about it."

The boys stopped as they saw a small group of boys out in the field circled around something. In the hopes that they had found something interesting, Chauvelin and Mercier went toward them to have a look. As soon as the other boys saw them approach, they took off and ran, leaving a small, trembling figure on the ground. They walked up, saw the poor thing and instantly got down to help.

"Coupeau! What happened?" Chauvelin asked quietly as he helped the bruised boy to his feet.

"They…they…" Coupeau's eyes filled with tears, and he leaned his head on Chauvelin's shoulder and started to cry.

Mercier took off his shirt and held it to the boy's bloody nose. "What did they do? They hit you? What?"

The boy nodded and cried harder. Gently smoothing back his hair, Chauvelin carefully lifted him on to his back and carried him back to the inn to get the sobbing thing cleaned up.

…

"Alright, what happened?" Chauvelin asked firmly as he sat across from the now clean boy at a table in the common room of the inn.

"I…Chauvelin, I…"

"What are you afraid of, Coupeau?" Mercier asked softly, gently squeezing the boy's shoulder. "We're friends. You're supposed to tell us stuff like this."

"I, well…that is to say…"

Chauvelin put his hand in the air and flagged down the innkeeper and ordered some wine. He brought the bottle and three glasses, poured it for the boys, and let them be. Slowly sipping at the content of the glass, Chauvelin said, "Alright, now you're going to tell us. Why did they beat you?"

Coupeau flushed and sunk down in his seat. "I've…I've been having a relationship with one of the miller's children."

"Have you really now?" He asked sceptically, peering at the boy intently.

"No, Chauvelin, I…" Coupeau sighed, shook his head, and gave up. "And I…we really liked each other, Chauvelin. But they found us together and…" Coupeau's eyes filled with tears again and he trembled. "And they didn't like our relationship, and…and they beat me for it…"

"And she got away?" Mercier asked, but Coupeau just nodded, blushing furiously, and said nothing more. "Are you going to see her again?"

Coupeau shook his head slowly, quietly said, "No. Never…going to be married, so we shouldn't, and…" Quickly wiping his eyes he softly asked, "Chauvelin, can we leave? I don't want to be here anymore."

Chauvelin smiled, leaned back, nodded. "Of course. I've been meaning to see Calais. I hear they speak English there, and I should like to learn it."

He smiled softly, blushed a bit. "Thank you, Chauvelin."

Chauvelin smiled slyly, looked the boy in the eyes and said nothing. Shifting slightly in the uncomfortable silence, Mercier asked, "So, what are you so smug about, Chauvelin?"

"Oh, nothing much," Chauvelin said in a singsong voice, his face becoming all the more smug. "I just find Coupeau's little love affair a bit interesting."

"Oh?" Mercier asked cautiously. "Why's that?"

Chauvelin took up his glass and downed the remainder of the wine. "Because," he said smoothly as he stood, "the miller only has sons."

Coupeau blushed furiously and sunk down in his seat and Mercier looked at the boy in shock as the child said nothing to deny. Chauvelin walked away whistling.


	9. Keep It Gay

**A warning be to you all. If anyone has even the slightest problem with gay anything, leave now. It's not descriptive, but one of my three main characters is a homo. Homophobes, leave. Really.**

**And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 9: Keep It Gay**

"Mercier?" Silence. He inched a bit closer. "Mercier?" Again, no answer. Shrinking back, slightly hurt, he reached out and lightly touched his shoulder, and the man tensed and moved away very quickly, forcefully stating, "Don't touch me, queer!"

Coupeau shrank back, clearly hurt, and ran to Chauvelin's side and latched onto his arm. "Chauvelin, I…I think Mercier hates me…"

"Nonsense. He's merely a bit high strung because he had to share a bed with someone who was probably thinking of him in a more than friendly manner."

Coupeau blushed furiously and gripped Chauvelin's arm tighter, leaning his head against dark man's back. "I…I wasn't…"

More silence, except for Chauvelin's soft humming. Finally having enough of the tense, awkward quiet, Mercier suddenly stopped, shouted, "Chauvelin, why do we keep him around?"

Chauvelin stopped, turned around, and looked at the man in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Coupeau!" he shouted, menacingly pointing a finger at the small boy clinging to Chauvelin's arm and hiding behind his leader with the most hurt expression on his face. "It can't be any good to keep him in the group. What if he does something to us? We might catch what he has!"

Chauvelin rolled his eyes. "Mercier, I doubt that you can catch a nasty case of homosexual. I think he's perfectly safe for us to be around."

"But it's not _normal_…" Eyes narrowing, he hissed, "I think we should leave him here, just to be safe. He'll only cause problems."

"Oh, come off it, man!" Chauvelin said, highly irritated. "Coupeau's our friend. So long as he doesn't go about trying to hook up with us, he's perfectly fine! And besides, every band of merry men needs a queer in the group."

Mercier sighed, gave up. "Alright. I'm…I'm sorry."

"That is quite alright. The splendor that is I forgives you. Come along now. We have quite the ways to go until we reach Calais."

Coupeau sighed and discretely snuggled against Chauvelin. Smiling happily and looking at him in adoration, he quietly whispered, "Thank you."

"Not a problem at all, my friend. Would you be so kind as to remove yourself from my being?" Coupeau flushed, quickly jumped away and muttered hasty apologies, but Chauvelin only smiled slyly and continued to walk. "Oh, Coupeau? You did know that God hates homosexuals, right?"

He stumbled, quickly caught himself, and firmly stated, "No! God loves all people."

Chauvelin smiled, shook his head. "Not so. It says so in the Bible."

"You lie!"

"I've read it. Have you?"

Coupeau, turned his eyes to the ground, said nothing, and the ebony-haired boy grinned triumphantly. "I don't believe you, Chauvelin," Coupeau said meekly.

"Says so in Romans 9:13. 'And the Lord descendeth upon the homosexuals, and said, "Thou art a bunch of queers, and I hate thee." And then he struck them with a stick of two cubits of length.' That's what it says."

Coupeau stared at the smug looking boy in utter shock and, shaking terribly, muttered, "Why, God? Why?"

"And that is why you should believe me when I say that I'm better than your stupid religion. I like you. God doesn't. That makes me better. Thou shall love thy queer friends. That's my third commandment."

Coupeau threw himself at Chauvelin feet and grabbed on to his leg. "What have I been doing my entire life?"

"Following the wrong set of rules." He pried the boy off his leg and helped him to his feet, placed his hands on his shoulders and said, "Better now?"

Coupeau slowly nodded his head. "Does God really hate me?"

"He would if there was one. Good thing he's made up, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess…" Coupeau said quietly, instinctively moving closer to Chauvelin. They walked a little while down the road in silence, but it was short lived as they soon came by a cart at the side of the road and a family sitting beside it, seemingly taking lunch. Ever seizing the opportunity to get new things, Chauvelin stomped over to the people and stood before them, Mercier and Coupeau following closely behind. The man looked up at the boy, pulling back his wide brimmed hat so that he could see him, and cheerfully greeted, "Shalom!"

Chauvelin reeled back; that was most certainly not French. Forgetting whatever wits he had, he cried, "Oh my God, what are you?"

The man was a bit shocked at the boy's outburst, and he slowly said, "We are but travellers on our way to England to set sail for America."

"We are but filthy plebeians on our way to Calais so I can learn English and so we may pick up some women." He paused. "Or men, as it were."

The entire group simultaneously yelled, "Unclean!" and the children hid behind their mother.

This, naturally, irritated Chauvelin. "What the devil is wrong with you people?"

The man shook his finger at the boy, careful to keep a distance from him. "Don't you know the Torah says that it's an abomination to lay with a man?"

Coupeau hid behind Chauvelin, blushing, and the dark man waived his hand in dismissal. "Oh, come off it. Who cares? So long as they're happy, right?" Staring at the stunned man, he quickly added, "And what's a Torah?"

Pulling himself together, the man quickly said, "It's the holy book of the Jewish people."

"What? You're Jews? No wonder you're odd! Are you rich?" The man stuttered to say something, but Chauvelin went on without a care to the man. "Because I'm rich too! And I can read, and I'm smart enough to know there is no God, so that makes me better than you." Digging through his pockets, he held out a small chip of something to the man. "That's part of the hoof of the pig we killed this morning for breakfast. You may have it."

"Unclean!" shouted the children.

"Quite, you!" Chauvelin growled.

"You can't eat pork! God will scorn you for that!" the man cried.

"Oh? I really don't think God cares what we had for breakfast. Wouldn't he care more that our merry little band doesn't believe in Him and one of us sleeps with men?"

"Unclean!" shouted the children.

"Oh, sod off!" Chauvelin snapped, grabbing Mercier and Coupeau's arms and dragging them away. When the cart and the family were out of sight, Chauvelin quietly said, "You know, I don't think I quite like Jews."

"No?" Mercier asked. "Why not?"

"I don't know. It might have been that the children were terribly annoying, but I think it's because I don't like his hat."

Coupeau nodded. "It was not a sexy hat."

"No, no. Not at all like mine in the least!" Chauvelin stated proudly, puffing his chest and holding his head higher.

…

They had never seen anything quite like Calais in their lives, and for a long while, they feared to enter the city. It was big. It was busy. It smelled like fish. But still, the three boys gathered up their courage and walked past the guard and into Calais. It really was not a very big town, more of a fishing village and dock more than anything else, but it was still far bigger than anything the country raised boys had ever seen in their lives.

They wandered about aimlessly for a small while until Chauvelin snapped out of his stupor and ordered the boys about; they needed a place to stay, as he had decided that he quite liked the city, and he was well intent on staying here for a while.

He had finally managed to find a small dwelling that suited their purposes, and paying a mere fifteen francs to the family that lived there, they vacated and Chauvelin, Mercier, and Coupeau had themselves a home, thankfully this time with three separate beds in three separate rooms, which pleased Chauvelin in the highest sense of the word; the conditions were quite well suited for his womanizing escapades that he had so planned to engage in.

They sat in what they called the common room, all three exhausted and drinking some wine that they had found in the cupboard. Yawning slightly and stretching, Chauvelin stood up and said tiredly, "To bed now, boys. We have to get up early."

"Why?" Mercier whined. He wasn't much of a morning person.

Grinning as evilly as he could manage, being as tired as he was, he quietly said, "Because tomorrow morning is Sunday, and we're going to go to church."

Both boys stared at him in disbelief, and knowing better than to question the boy, Mercier stood up. "Right then. Good night. I shall see you in the morning."

But Coupeau was not ready to accept this. As Mercier left the room and he heard the door close, Coupeau jumped up and in a frightened tone asked, "Why, Chauvelin? God hates me, remember?"

"God's not real, Coupeau. Don't worry about a thing."

He placed his face in his hands and whimpered slightly. "I have been with a _man_, Chauvelin. That's much worse than being with a woman. He is going to be angry that I go into His holy place…"

"Coupeau. Not real. Get a life. He can't hurt you. I just want to see what it's like so I can better mock people." Chauvelin shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe you'll meet someone there."

"But, Chauvelin, I…" He swallowed, clutched his hands together. "I don't want to meet anyone…"

"What? Coupeau, don't be an idiot. We're going to be here a while, and it would do you well to find yourself a lover. Heaven knows that your variety is hard to come by, so you may want to start looking now." The pale yellow eyes widened in surprise as the auburn-haired child quickly moved from where he was to stand before him, and before he knew what was happening, Coupeau's lips were on his own.

Pulling away slowly, Coupeau looked at the shocked child in adoration, smiling softly and lightly running a finger over his cheek. "I don't want anyone else but you, Chauvelin," the green-eyed boy said softly. "You protect me, and you're everything I wish I could be, and I love you for it…"

"Coupeau, I…" Sighing and closing his eyes, Chauvelin removed the boy's hand from his cheek. "Stop. I can't love you. Not like you want me to. You are my friend, Coupeau, nothing more, and it's never going to change."

He sighed, his entire being awash with disappointment, and looked at the ground. "I know, Chauvelin…"

He stared intently at the boy and, just in case there was any doubt, he plainly stated, "I like the ladies."

"I know, Chauvelin…"

He sighed, placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "We're making a new rule, Coupeau. You can be completely queer with anyone you like, but not me. Hell, go after Mercier for all I care, but not me. I am exclusively at the disposal of the women."

"I'll always love you…"

He gently hit him upside the head. "Then if you must express it, do it in words and know I will never return your sentiments." He nudged the boy in the direction of the bedrooms. "Get you to bed. We're up early to cause a riot."

Slowly walking toward the room, he sighed, turned around, tried several times to speak but faltered. He finally managed to choke, "I love you, Chauvelin."

He smiled slightly at the desperate yearning in those large green eyes and gently whispered, "Good night, Coupeau." With that, the boy sadly nodded and was off. Sighing slightly, he muttered, "What a mess," before blowing out the candles and going to his own room to rest for the evening.


	10. The Antichrist

**Just a brief warning. Coupeau's gay. That's all. **

**And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 10: The Antichrist**

Contrary to what he thought would happen, Chauvelin did not fall asleep during the church service. Rather, he was quite awake, and very excited. Of course, that had nothing to do with the less than thrilling sermon the priest was delivering, oh no. The sinister, black-haired boy had drowned out the droll sound of the priest and was pleasantly preoccupied in thinking of all the things he would do to the woman who sat just in front of him as soon as he got her naked in his bedroom.

Leaning over and nudging Mercier in the ribs, he whispered, "Hey, check out the girl in front of me." He watched in glee as his friend leaned over to get a look at the girl. "She's quite the sexy thing, what?" Grinning slightly, he slyly said, "Give me two days and I'll have her."

Nodding in approval, he covertly pointed over the seat in front of him. "Three rows down, sixth one in." Chauvelin craned his neck over the people to take a look at what his friend was pointing at. Suddenly, everyone rose, and Chauvelin and Mercier jumped up as if they were paying attention. Satisfied that no one was moving and they all merely bowed their heads in prayer, Chauvelin looked to the girl again. "She's mine," Mercier whispered proudly.

Chauvelin shook his head. "Nah, her hips are too wide. Go for something slimmer. Wide hips scream children, and we don't want those." The people suddenly started to move, and Chauvelin and Mercier followed Coupeau out into the aisle and filed into a line. Leaning over his Coupeau's shoulder, Chauvelin quietly hissed, "What are we doing?"

Coupeau glared back at his friend. "Weren't you listening? We're taking the sacrament."

"Oh." Leaning back towards Mercier, he softly asked, "What's a sacrament?"

"It's the blood and body of Christ. They give us wafers and wine to symbolize it."

"We get snacks?" Chauvelin asked excitedly, much louder than was appropriate. "Cool!" Several people around shushed him, and Chauvelin hissed in an irritated manner. He would let this trespass go for now; the snacks would compensate.

Looking around the people excitedly, Chauvelin bounced slightly in anticipation of being fed, for he hadn't eaten that morning. He was so absolutely thrilled that he didn't know what to do with himself, so when the priest handed him a small wafer that took up little space on the palm of his hand, he was severely disappointed. He was about to protest, but Mercier pushed him to the side and into the line for the wine.

Chauvelin refused to deal with this kind of injustice. He fiercely poked Coupeau in the back and got the boy's attention. "What is this?" Chauvelin snarled, holding the wafer to the boy's face.

"You eat it, Chauvelin."

He hit Coupeau upside the head, earning him some shocked and curious looks from the priests. "I didn't ask what you do with it, you idiot!" All the same, the flustered boy popped the wafer in his mouth. "They expect to feed us with such a little amount? Their horses eat better than this!" The line moved forward, and Chauvelin found himself in front of a priest solemnly holding an elaborate metal cup out to him and he swiftly took it, quickly examined the contents, brought it to his lips and threw his head back, downing the rest of the liquid. He thrust the cup back into the stunned priest's hands and stomped his way back to his seat. Life wasn't fair.

He sat through most of the rest of the service silently fuming and occasionally looking about the room and surveying the women. It was only toward the very end that he sharply drove his elbow in to Coupeau's side and whispered, "I've been meaning to ask you. The priest. He keeps making all these hand signals. Is he just making those up on the spot? Because when the people copy him, it looks like they have no idea what they're doing."

"What? No, Chauvelin…" Coupeau gave up. The boy could not be taught.

They all rose again and filed into another line, Chauvelin in a much better mood than after the snack fiasco because he had brushed shoulders with the woman he wanted. "Ah, that was fun!" he said lazily, putting his hands behind his head. "What now?"

"We go to confession," Coupeau said quietly, nervously wringing his hands. He had a few confessions he was certain he would be smote for…

"Confession? You have got to be kidding me…" Chauvelin couldn't believe it. After that entire lecture on how bad everything was, they had to go and confess that they had been bad? "Goodness, what's the point of the lecture if they designate a special time to come in and confess that they are doing exactly what they're not supposed to?"

"Because most people are sinners like you, Chauvelin," Coupeau said extremely seriously.

"Well, well, look who's talking, Mr. Sodomy."

Coupeau only had time to blush furiously and stare in horror at the boy before he was called in to the confessional. "Weird thing, church, isn't?" Chauvelin asked in a bored tone as he leaned against Mercier. "What are you going to confess?"

Mercier shrugged. "I don't know. I've nothing to confess except for the womanizing, but I don't feel all that bad about that."

Chauvelin sighed. "Yeah, me neither. Wanna go to a tavern or something tonight? My mother always used to tell me that people are extremely aroused on Sundays. Something about no work and extra energy. Nabbing some girls should be easy."

Mercier shrugged. "Sounds good. What about Coupeau?"

"Just because Coupeau's a homo doesn't mean he can't get women. Remember how popular he was in Coulogne? They were all over him!"

"Yes, and weeping like babies. Get that guy alone with a woman, and he'll start relaying his life story and get them both worked up for a good cry."

"Eh, he'll come along anyway. Every man needs a lover, even if it's another man, I suppose." Coupeau stumbled out of the confessional, sobbing and weeping and instantly attracting the attentions of several women who were immediately at his side. "See? Women love a queer." Looking around, Chauvelin pointed to the confessional and asked, "You wanna go first?"

Mercier bowed. "I'll let you, my friend, have the honors."

"Why thank you. So much for ladies first." Chauvelin stomped into the confessional and plunked down on the seat. He shivered; no, he did not like the close, confined space. Suddenly a door slid open, revealing a dark screen and the outline of a man sitting behind it, and Chauvelin jumped and almost ran. Quickly composing himself, he cheerfully said, "Hello!"

The priest was confused. People are not happy when they come to confess their sins and darkest secrets. "Do you have a confession, my son?"

"Oh yes, several," Chauvelin said, still chipper, but with an underlying hint of malice. "I am guilty of several varieties of what you would call 'unnatural sin', but I shall call it, 'Having sex with as many women as I can get my hands on in just as many ways.'" He smiled all the more evilly as he heard the priest whimper. "I also don't believe in God, lit a monk's robes on fire, I took four francs out of that dish with money you passed around, and stolen several things. I am a compulsive liar, the bastard son of a whore, close friends with a homosexual, and nearly stooped to self gratification thinking of all the things I want to do to the innocent virgin that sat in front of me today." Leaning toward the screen, he smoothly whispered, "Would you like to hear what I have been planning for her?"

The priest whimpered.

…

The people in the church stared intently at the confessional. It was supposed to be quiet, a time of reflection on the wrong that had been done, but from the little box came loud groans and whimpers and cries for God's mercy, then it suddenly stopped, and a moment later, a very smug boy emerged and swaggered to sit by Coupeau. A minute later, the priest came out looking quite haggard, as if he had been through Hell and back.

"What did you do this time?" Coupeau hissed as the boy plopped down beside him.

"Oh, nothing much. Just gave him a detailed description of my sexual exploits. I don't think he has ever seen a woman naked in all his life the way he was carrying on." He smiled as Coupeau's head hit the bench in front of him. "He said for repentance, I have to do one thousand Hail Mary's while he goes to get the bishop. What's a Hail Mary?"

"Two…my God, Chauvelin, what did you tell him?" Coupeau asked, aghast. Seeing that he would get no response form the boy, he bowed his head and whispered, "Hail Mary is a prayer-"

"_HAIL MARY!_" Chauvelin shouted at the top of his lungs, standing on the bench for emphasis. Satisfied that he had disrupted the tranquillity of the church and every eye was on him, he sat back down to his beat red friend. "That counts as two thousand, right?"

"_Repent, sinner_!" the bishop yelled as he emerged from the back room, closely followed by the priest that had heard the unholy confession. "Accept God in to your heart lest you be cast into the pits of Hell!"

"That's the one," the priest said, frightened, pointing a shaky finger at the wide-eyed and confused Chauvelin.

"That's…that's him?" the bishop asked. He had been expecting someone large and demon-like, but the person that was being pointed to was small and extremely thin, not healthy looking at all and little more than a boy. He approached the boy and carefully looked him over. "Do you swear before God that all the things that you have told the priest are true?" the man asked firmly.

Chauvelin nodded, his chest swelling with pride. "Yup! Every word!"

The bishop pointed to a crucifix that hung on the wall and, very preacher-like, exclaimed, "Our Lord and Savior died for your sins and this is how you thank Him?"

"Well, why would he do that?" Chauvelin asked, very perplexed. "That was a rather stupid thing to do. Die for my sins…ha! We all go about having illicit relationships, why would he let himself be nailed to a piece of wood? To stop us?"

"He died so the spiritually weak such as yourself may be saved!" the bishop snapped, but Chauvelin only laughed harder. "Good God, he's the Antichrist!" The bishop crossed himself, muttered a quick prayer, and grabbed the boy by the arm, dragging him up to the alter. Addressing the congregation of people within the church, he proclaimed, "Behold! This is the very son of sin! He is a stain upon the face of our Lord! Even his eyes resemble a demon of Hell!"

The congregation gasped, and Chauvelin just smiled smugly, caught the eyes of one of the women and hissed in the most seductively demon-like manner he could. "But our Lord is a gracious one, and He will forgive this child of sin!" The bishop jerked Chauvelin around a little to stop the boy from mouthing things to a now gasping, sighing, and blushing group of women that gathered at the front of the church. "Have you been baptized, you dreadful sinner?"

Chauvelin looked up at the man in aggravation. "My mother was a whore and I was born under a table in a tavern. What do you think?"

The bishop's eyes shone with some odd sort of religious fevor. "Look upon the result of a child who has not been given to God at birth! He has been without the presence of our Lord for his entire life, and look at what he has become! A depraved, wicked, immoral beast!"

"Hey, this beast has feelings, you know."

"But behold as the power of God saves this vile demon and accepts him into the embrace of the Holy Spirit!" the bishop continued, ignoring the fuming boy. "Let us pray and give thanks to the glory and benevolence of Him."

Chauvelin was angry. He did not like this, not at all. The people were singing and the priest warily approached him and took him from the iron grasp of the bishop. The man led him to a basin by the alter and began chanting something and suddenly grabbed his hair and thrust his head under water. Chauvelin struggled with all his might, but the priest firmly held him and pulled him up, only to submerge him again. Chauvelin was sputtering and choking and cursing and having really no fun at all. Damn the thought of religion.

The man finally stopped and led the soaking boy to the front and gave him back to the bishop. The fiercely glaring boy looked like a drowned cat. "Behold, the splendour of God has reformed this sinner!" the bishop triumphantly stated.

Chauvelin turned his eyes up at the man and looked at him with the most sarcastic expression he could muster. "Oh yeah, your water sure makes me love God. Next time, how about asking if I need a bath. It's a good thing your God doesn't exist or he'd smite you for attempted murder."

The bishop stared at the boy and gaped at his godlessness. "He truly is the Antichrist! The very devil Lucifer himself!"

Chauvelin rolled his eyes and got away from the alter and the crazy man, the congregation parting like the Red Sea as he walked. He grabbed Mercier and Coupeau by the arms and started to head out. "These people are nut jobs. Why didn't you tell me about this, Coupeau?"

"You never gave me the chance."

"Oh, you only had the entire time we've known each other to tell me."

"He's abducting the souls of those two boys!" the bishop yelled frantically! "See the seductive powers of sin! You must resist!"

"Oh, shut up, you cur!" Chauvelin snapped. He had quite frankly had enough of that man. The priest suddenly ran up to him and threw some water at him, saying a prayer as he did so. Chauvelin merely stood unflinching and looked the frightened man in the eye and after a moment he spit at his feet. "What did I say about the water, guys? Honestly."

"The holy water didn't work!" the priest cried.

"The Antichrist is immune to our mortal means!" the bishop cried.

Chauvelin laid his hand on his chest and looked innocently at the bishop. "Me? The Antichrist? Oh no, good sir! I am quite the opposite, actually. And by the way, do you have a horse we could have?" He pushed Coupeau forward. "We have a baby in a stable that my friend here birthed and we need to get to the holy land to spread the good news!"

"A man cannot birth a child!" the bishop sneered.

"Well, neither can a virgin, what?" He grabbed his friends and left. Chauvelin had had enough of these ridiculous people.

…

That evening at the tavern, Chauvelin was surrounded by every woman in the establishment, two sitting upon his lap and the rest getting as close to him as they could so that they might touch him, stroke him, run their hands through his hair or gently rub his shoulders and chest, for they all wanted a piece of the Antichrist.

"Life is divine, isn't it boys?" Chauvelin purred, gently nipping at one of the girl's ear.

"Only for you, Chauvelin," Mercier sighed. "I swear, if it isn't Coupeau taking my women, it's you."

"Yes, well, everyone loves a bad boy, I suppose." The women giggled.

Mercier sighed, as there was really little else he could do. Leaning over to his friend, he asked, "What do you think of all this, Coupeau?"

"Huh?" The green-eyed boy looked up from the glass of wine that he had been staring in to. Realizing that he had been asked something, he slumped down in his chair and sulkily responded, "I don't like women…"

Mercier's head hit the table. A room full of women, and he was stuck at a table alone with the queer. Fantastic. He looked wearily up as he hear the door open and instantly jumped up to greet the woman that cautiously entered. Grabbing her hand and passionately kissing it, he quietly muttered, "Good evening, mademoiselle." Chauvelin couldn't have all the women…

"Good evening, monsieur," the woman shyly responded. Looking over his shoulder at the mass of women and hearing a cry of pleasure from a girl sitting on a black-haired man's lap, she quietly asked, "Is that the Antichrist?"

Mercier vigorously nodded. "Yes, and I am his right-hand man."

"Oh, really?" the woman said, sneaking an arm around the man's neck. "That's quite exciting, isn't it?"

Mercier grinned and slowly led the woman back to the table. Being bad rocked.

Coupeau watched in disbelief as Mercier had so easily got this girl to follow him and sit upon his lap at their table. Groaning, he threw back the rest of his wine. It was going to be a very long night… "Not you too, Mercier," he whined, causing both his irritated friend and the girl to look his way.

"Oh, who's your friend?" the girl asked, stroking the man's cheek but keeping an eye on the sulking green-eyed thing.

"That's Coupeau," Mercier said, turning her face back toward him.

"He's really cute…"

"Yes, well he's also really homosexual…" he said between grit teeth, glaring at the boy as the little thing flushed and slunk down further in the chair.

His cheek suddenly burned as the woman's open hand connected with it. "Don't defame the poor thing!" she reprimanded, sliding off his lap and standing behind Coupeau's chair, her hands coming to rest on the flustered boy's chest.

"But…but its true!" Mercier said as his head hit the table. So much for his prospects for the evening.

"Oh, nonsense," the woman drawled, laying her head on the boy's shoulder and nuzzling his neck. "You wouldn't mind that we…get to know each other better, would you?" she whispered in his ear, causing him to turn an even more fierce shade of red.

"M-madame, please, I beseech you, don't touch me…" He wriggled a bit to get his point across and sniffled a little as the woman came and sat next to him.

"Oh, what's wrong, cutie?" she asked softly, running a hand across the boy's auburn hair and down his jaw, taking note of how uncomfortable the little thing looked.

Coupeau looked in her eyes, sniffed and began to cry, throwing himself into the woman's arms and laying his head on her chest. "God hates me because I like men and I love Chauvelin but he's surrounded by women and doesn't want me and I'm so very far from home and I miss my mother and I don't even know where to begin!"

"Well, you could start at the beginning," the woman said softly, gently petting the weeping boy's hair.

Coupeau turned his head up and smiled gratefully at the woman. "Well, I was born in a small town, the middle child of twenty two sisters…"

…

"That's the saddest thing I have ever heard!" the woman wailed, she and Coupeau holding on to each other as if their lives depended on it.

"I know!" Coupeau cried, holding on to the woman tighter. "My life is a senseless tragedy filled with soulless people and heterosexual men!"

"Oh you poor dear!" the woman cried before both of them began sobbing uncontrollably.

Mercier hit his head repeatedly against the table. This was intolerable, but he had really nowhere else to go. Chauvelin had already left to the back rooms of the tavern, dragging all of the girls with him, and he really didn't trust to leave Coupeau alone. He may be inclined to go about and depress the whole town so that they descend into a fit of weeping before all ritually drowning themselves for the little queer's sake. And Mercier recognized that he most certainly would not be bringing any women to bed that evening…he may as well go home.

Sighing and standing up, he pried the woman's and Coupeau's arms off each other and dragged the boy by the collar toward the door. "So sorry, miss, but it is getting late, and you are no doubt tired of my friend's prattling…"

"When shall I see you again, my poor little one?" the woman cried.

"I don't know!" Coupeau sniffed. "I may never see you again, if for nothing else, because some higher being would think it is funny to see me all the more miserable…"

"Oh God! Why!" the woman bemoaned, and wailed all the more.

Mercier rolled his eyes and dragged Coupeau out of there before he had a chance to respond and make things worse. They walked for a long while in silence which was only broken by the occasional sniffle from Coupeau. "So…uh, you…you really like men, huh?" Mercier asked nervously, flushing from what to him was a very awkward question.

"I thought you knew that…" Coupeau whispered, stumbling slightly over an uneven spot on the ground. "You hate me for it, remember?"

"No, Coupeau, I don't…" He sighed, hung his head. "I don't hate you."

"Yes you do… 'Let's get rid of him,' that's what you said…"

"I-I didn't mean it…I was a bit surprised, is all…and if Chauvelin says it's safe…then, well, I guess it's fine…"

Silence. Coupeau twitched nervously, quietly asked, "I guess I ruined your evening again, huh?"

Mercier sighed. "I won't lie to you. Yes. Yes you did."

"Oh…" Coupeau bowed his head, slightly trembled. "I'm sorry…I-I can just sit in the corner next time and not say anything…if, if that will make it easier for you to talk to the ladies…"

"I have no difficulty talking to the ladies," Mercier said defiantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He shrugged. "Chauvelin says women love queers and bad boys. I'm neither."

"I'm sorry…" Coupeau said quietly as they approached the house.

Mercier smiled at him slightly as he opened the door, motioning for him to enter. "That's quite alright, my friend."

Smiling sheepishly, Coupeau bowed slightly and went inside, closely followed by Mercier.

…

Chauvelin stumbled out of the tavern, thoroughly intoxicated by the evening's activities. Women, no doubt, were far superior to any wine he had ever tasted, and their after-effects were nearly identical, though of course the means to getting to that state were far more pleasurable with women and he didn't need to worry about any nasty headache in the morning. Marvellously splendid way to live.

He grinned smugly to himself as he weaved down the street toward home. He didn't even bring his favourite headgear with him that evening. His seductive powers must have been just as great as the hat. That was certainly an accomplishment on his part.

Humming a tune that he was making up that was to be his "theme song" for life and his relentless pursuit of the female of the species, he waltzed to the front door of his house, dug through all the junk he kept in his pockets and withdrew the key. Yawning, he put the key in the lock, turned it, replaced the key in his pocket and opened the door. Rubbing his eyes as he walked in, he blinked and stopped dead in his tracks.

There, sitting on one of the chairs, was Mercier with Coupeau straddling him, both men without shirts, their hands everywhere, kissing passionately and moaning wildly. Chauvelin's jaw dropped and for a moment could only stare in shock. Getting his wits together, he slammed the door as hard as he could, grinning evilly as the two jumped and their eyes flew open, daring not to move and staring at Chauvelin with wide eyes. They stuttered a bit but failed to speak at all.

Chauvelin just grinned.


	11. How To Avoid Being Drafted

**Ok, next one. Not quite as good as the others, but hey, what can you do?**

**And the Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 11: How to Avoid Being Drafted**

"I'm not queer."

Chauvelin sipped his tea, smiling smugly as he perused a book written in English. "Sure you're not." For a good portion of the day, Mercier had been trying to convince him of this, and he was none too eager to believe him. Not after what he had seen him doing with Coupeau the night before.

"I just_ needed_ someone, do you understand?"

"Oh sure, I understand," Chauvelin said sarcastically. "Whenever I need someone, I go to men as well. Nope, the ladies do nothing for me. No sir."

Mercier slammed his hands on the table in irritation and glared at the smug boy. "Damn it, Chauvelin, you took all of the women!"

"Oh nonsense. I couldn't have taken more than twelve."

"And Coupeau gets the rest of them with his whining and complaining! I'm thinking of getting hysterical, it seems to work well enough!"

There was a sudden knock at the door, and Coupeau came flouncing out of the kitchen wearing an apron and opened the door and a beautiful woman walked in, quickly embraced him and planted a small kiss on the boy's lips. "Coupeau, my love! How are you?"

"Not so bad, Félicie," the boy said timidly, blushing a bit and herding her passed his shocked friends and into the kitchen. "Come, we will talk in here. I'm baking cookies!"

The two of them giggled as they left the room, and Chauvelin and Mercier stared at each other in shock. "That's it. From now on, I'm pretending to be queer."

"I don't think you have to pretend, Mercier."

"I'm not queer," Mercier firmly stated, only getting all the more flustered when all Chauvelin did in response was smirk. He pushed himself out of his seat and stomped into the kitchen to see what Coupeau and the girl were up to, for he had enough of Chauvelin's smugness and sarcasm. He walked in and found the two giggling and talking at the counter while Coupeau prepared his pastries. "What are you doing?" Mercier asked the boy firmly, clearly aggravated.

"Baking cookies and talking about men!" Coupeau chirped, earning a giggle from the girl as she ran her hand through his hair. "Would you like to join us?"

Mercier turned bright red and was about to stomp out, but Chauvelin appeared behind him and nudged him in to the room. "Oh come now, Mercier, we do not be rude on the presence of a lady." He suavely approached the woman and brought her hand to his lips. "Bonjour, madame."

The girl blushed, her heart quickened, and she breathlessly asked, "Who's your friend, Coupeau?"

Coupeau blushed and turned away to attend to his pastries. "That's Chauvelin, the alleged Antichrist of Calais."

"Oh, so you're the Antichrist they have been talking about!" the girl cried, laughing slightly. Looking at him coyly, she purred, "Are you going to try to seduce me, monsieur?"

"No," Chauvelin said tiredly, releasing her hand and sitting upon the counter. "I really do not have the interest anymore." He shrugged. "I think it's missing something."

Mercier was shocked. "Missing something? Like what?"

Coupeau and the girl swooned, simultaneously saying in an airy voice, "Love…"

Chauvelin paused, seemed to ponder this, and quickly shook his head. "No, no, I think the challenge just wore off. It's too easy. Anyhow, I have to learn English, and this lady business is eating up all my time. And then I want to learn how to fight properly and I just won't have the time to womanize the way I have been."

"Oh, that reminds me!" the girl cried. "There are going to be soldiers in the city today taking away able-bodied men and put them in the King's army."

"What?" the three boys said together, their jaws dropping. "What for?" Coupeau asked, his eyes wide with fear.

The girl shrugged. "I don't know."

"Alright boys, let's go," Chauvelin said, jumping off from where he sat and grabbing Mercier and Coupeau's arms. "We're leaving."

"But…but my cookies!"

"They can wait. Come along, we need to know what this is about." He quickly bowed in the woman's direction. "I hate to be abrupt, madame, but get out of our house. We're leaving, and as should you."

"But I-"

"Now, now, don't complain. Hurry, we need to know what this is about, because, quite frankly, we three are able-bodied, and there is no chance in Hell I will ever be caught serving the king."

The woman nodded and was herded out by Chauvelin as he dragged the boys with him, slammed the door and locked the house. He turned on his heel and headed toward the docks. "Where are we going?" Coupeau asked quietly.

"I met a recently retired admiral yesterday afternoon, and I am pretty sure he knows what's happening." They walked swiftly to the docks, Chauvelin's yellow eyes quickly scanning the sailors and fishermen and quickly spotted the man he was looking for. Dragging his friends behind him, he approached the man and saluted. "Good afternoon, Monsieur Admiral."

The man looked at the boy, squinting for a moment as he tried to recognize the boy. "Oh, you're the boy from yesterday." The man said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Yes sir. Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could tell me what's going on."

"Pardon me?"

"The soldiers," Chauvelin said firmly. "Someone told me and my friends that they will be enlisting all capable men into the military."

"Very true, very true," the man said slowly nodding and smiling softly.

"Why?"

"Why?" The man sat up straight and looked at the deadly serious young man. "Haven't you heard? France is at war with England."

"We _what_?"

"Goodness, boy, do you know nothing?" the admiral gruffly said, standing up and walking out to the pier, the three boys trailing him closely. "England has colonies in America. You did know that, right?" The boys stared at him blankly and he shook his head. "Kids these days don't know a thing. The colonies are fighting for their independence and we are helping them."

"No way! They can do that?" Chauvelin asked, stunned at the revelation.

"Of course. People can fight about anything. The king is enlisting men from ever city and town to fight in America. You boys may soon find yourself in a uniform on the way to fight in the colonies. Or you may just be shipped to Paris to be employed as a guard there."

"Paris?" Chauvelin asked. "I have never heard of it."

"Goodness, boy! It's the capital city of our great country! Do you not know anything at all?"

"Is it big?" Coupeau asked quietly.

"Big? My boy, it's the biggest city in all of France."

Chauvelin looked at the man sceptically. "I don't think so. Bigger than Calais?"

"Nearly tenfold bigger and that much more splendid."

"Sir, is there any way we won't get thrown into the military?" Chauvelin asked swiftly as he noticed the people in the town rushing to the gates to greet the soldiers.

"For healthy boys like you, no. You should be proud to protect France."

"Proud to protect France, but not proud to serve the king," he said quickly as he took Mercier and Coupeau's hands and very quickly led them away. They ran along the dock and crouched behind a stack of crates, peering out from behind and watching the soldiers congregate on the dock to enlist the men of the city. Chauvelin plunked down on the ground. "Damn, this is no good."

"What's so bad about it, Chauvelin?" Mercier whispered. "Think how proud we can make our families. Everyone in the village we grew up in always told us to become soldiers if we could. It's a noble profession."

"You two? Soldiers? Ha! Don't make me laugh. You guys aren't soldier material."

"I don't wanna fight, Chauvelin," Coupeau whimpered, clinging on to the boy's hand.

"Look, we can't serve the king. He hasn't done a thing for the people of France, so why should we do a thing for him?" He looked at the ground for a moment and whispered to himself, "Able-bodied men…" His face suddenly shone with brilliance and he got to his knees and took a piece of glass from his pocket. Pulling his sleeve up and putting the piece at the underside of his arm right where the elbow bends, he swiftly pushed it in and drew it across, blood flowing quickly from the cut.

"_Chauvelin_!" Coupeau cried, eyes going wide and suddenly getting faint at the sight of the thick liquid. "_What are you doing_?"

Smiling slyly and swiftly standing up, he pulled Mercier to his feet and with all the force he could gather, drove his knee into the boy's thigh. The blonde instantly fell to the floor, clutching his leg and howling in pain until Chauvelin placed his hand over his mouth. "Quiet. They'll hear you."

Mercier held his breath and when Chauvelin took his hand away, he hissed between clenched teeth, "What the Hell was that for?"

"Can you stand?" Chauvelin asked quietly.

"What do you think, idiot!"

Chauvelin smiled the best he could as he took his shirt off and began to tie it around his bleeding arm. He was starting to get a bit light-headed, but that was the intended effect. "The king doesn't want a cripple in his army, now does he?"

Mercier looked at the boy with a sudden understanding; he was getting them out.

"Chauvelin, I…what about…" Coupeau was having a rather hard time formulating his question as he got what he considered to be a rather splendid view of Chauvelin half naked just a few feet away. Choking back his sudden quicker breathing, he flushed and took his eyes away from the handsome young man.

"Coupeau, listen to me," Chauvelin said quietly, slowly standing and helping to support the temporarily crippled Mercier. "I want you to be as queer as you possibly can."

"Wait, Wha-"

"Do you really think the military wants a guy who is going to be so focused on the men around him he won't pay attention? No! Get aroused, play with them, try to get them into bed with you, do whatever you can, lest you get enlisted. Your life depends on it, Coupeau."

"My…my life?" Coupeau asked meekly. Pausing for a moment, he quickly asked, "Did you say to get aroused?"

Chauvelin shrugged. "If that's what it takes."

That did it. Coupeau latched his hands on to Chauvelin's hips and pressed his body against his. He really couldn't take it anymore. He allowed his body to take over and passionately kissed at Chauvelin's neck and collarbone, moaning softly as he did so.

"Not me, you idiot!" Chauvelin hissed as he pushed the flushed and panting boy away from him. "The soldiers! Frighten the soldiers, don't scare the pants off me." Looking quickly at both boys and feeling extremely light-headed, he made sure the blood was not visible through the shirt and led the boys out to face the army.

The trio stumbled over to the line of men waiting to be inspected by the guards and stood still, Chauvelin and Mercier leaning against each other for support and Coupeau looking to the sides of the people so that he may get a glance at the soldiers. They didn't have to wait too long before they were called upon, and Chauvelin pushed Mercier forward, the poor man limping as best he could to stand before the captain.

The man snarled. "What are you doing here?"

Mercier stood up as straight as he could, winced, and put all his weight on his good leg. "I've come to serve my country, sir."

"What, a cripple? Fight for France? What is this, some kind of joke?"

"N-no sir, I-"

"Someone help this boy away."

Chauvelin smiled to himself and draped his arm over Coupeau's shoulder and let his hand lay on his chest, smiling smugly as the boy instantly began to breathe harder. "Remember, Coupeau. As queer as you can possibly be." He pushed the boy forward just as he was about to protest and smiled softly. What a wonderful person that boy was.

Coupeau was terrified. He could have sworn that Chauvelin was touching, whispering to him, and he was becoming horribly aroused from it, and then he suddenly found himself in front of a large, terrifying man. He didn't know what to do with himself, and the yearning for his leader was suddenly intolerable…

The captain had suddenly cupped his chin and turned his face to the sides, examining him, and Coupeau couldn't help but moan, his thoughts running wild with the black-haired boy. He quickly looked at the captain and he smiled to himself a bit; the man was actually rather handsome, and Chauvelin did tell him to be open, right? Grinning coyly, he swiftly took the man's hand and kissed it, letting his tongue linger on the palm until the captain jerkily wrenched his hand away. "Mmm…what's this? Don't be shy, Monsieur," he smoothly purred, imitating the very way that the falcon-eyed boy spoke when he was pleasuring women.

"What do you want, boy?" the captain asked harshly, clearly taken aback by the fair featured young man's bahavior.

Coupeau reeled back, laid his delicate hand on his chest in feigned surprise. "Why, I want to join your ranks!" Eyes narrowing seductively, he hooked an arm around the captain's neck and placed his hand upon the wide chest, gently moving his hand up and down and kneading the extremely tense muscle. "I just love a man in uniform…"

"Get this thing away!" the captain shouted as he grasped the little thing by the shoulder and held him as far away from him as he could. "It might be contagious!" None of the soldiers stepped forward to do as they were bid, but all took a large step back.

Coupeau grinned, shrugged and flounced away to join Mercier where he was sitting on the crates that they had earlier hid behind. Chauvelin grinned in total satisfaction at the little queer's performance; all was well in the world…except, of course, that the tremendous loss of blood was making him faint, but that was the point. He gingerly stepped forward to meet the captain who stood frantically wiping his hands off on his pants. Smiling meekly, Chauvelin feebly saluted. "Sir!"

The captain looked at this boy and backed away upon noticing the deathly pallor of the boy. "First a cripple, than a homosexual, and now what, a plague victim?"

"No sir! Anaemia." Chauvelin said softly, swaying where he stood. God he was dizzy…

"Christ, why do these people even bother to show up!" the captain cried, throwing his hat upon the ground.

Chauvelin was about to comment on the proper treatment for headwear as nice as that, but his eyes rolled in the back of his head and he fainted dead on the spot. The soldiers stood further back, and quite literally retreated from their positions as Coupeau came bounding down the dock and hoisted his friend on to his shoulder and took him away.

With the help of Mercier, who could now walk normally if he concentrated, Coupeau managed to get the unconscious boy back home and properly treat the rather nasty and still bleeding wound on his arm.

Chauvelin's eyes fluttered open after a little while, his entire right arm completely numb, but no longer bleeding and his two friends sitting close by. "Well, that was rather thrilling, wasn't it?"

"No. No, not really," Mercier said blankly as he watched Coupeau flutter about the boy like a mother hen.

"Oh, come now! Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Personally, Chauvelin, my sense of adventure has nothing to do with being kicked in the leg and lying to the French army about our sexuality."

"But we didn't lie!" Chauvelin cried as strongly as he could. "Coupeau's really a queer!" He turned his tired gold eyes on the boy who now sat at his side pressing a wet cloth to his forehead. "Right, Coupeau?"

Coupeau blushed, slightly nodded, and looked away.

"Paris…I should like to see that city…" Chauvelin said to himself. "Do you really think it's bigger than Calais?"

Mercier shrugged. "That's what the admiral said. I believe him."

"Chauvelin, must we?" Coupeau asked timidly, rewrapping Chauvelin's arm for the umpteenth time that hour. "I don't quite like the city, and I would really like to go back out to the countryside, and I should like to see home again…"

Chauvelin thought about this, and after a while shook his head. "No. We go to Paris. I think that we should start within the month. Who knows how long it will take us."

Coupeau sighed. "Whatever you like, Chauvelin. I…I guess Paris wouldn't be too bad…"

"Of course it won't be!" Chauvelin grinned to himself. They had evaded the army, and they were going to Paris. Life was good. "Coupeau?"

"Hmm?"

"Get your hand off my leg."


	12. The Devil With English

**And The Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 12: The Devil With English**

Chauvelin furrowed his brow in concentration and carefully repositioned himself. He didn't want to mess this up, and he certainly didn't want to hurt Coupeau doing it. After all, if he were to do something incorrectly, it could hurt the small boy under him quite badly, he imagined, and he certainly did not want to do that. Flushing slightly and breathing a bit faster, he managed to gasp, "Alright. What now?"

Coupeau whimpered a bit, tried to move to be a bit more comfortable, but his legs were tangled with the other boy's, and it was a bit difficult. Looking back at the boy, he softly said, "Your hand needs to go there…"

"Oh. Alright." He leaned a bit closer to the boy, pushed forward, and the auburn-haired man gasped slightly, and Chauvelin stopped. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No. Keep going."

Nodding and much more gentle than before, Chauvelin carefully reached over and softly placed his hand on thespot the boy indicated. "Here?"

Coupeau shook his head. "No, a little further…"

Grunting in effort, he did as he was told. "Here?"

"Keep going. I'll tell you when." The dark haired boy complied, and Coupeau watched him intently, moving as best he could as to help the softly grunting boy with his task. "There! That's the spot!"

Just then, the door swung open, and Mercier stood there, staring in shock at his two comrades, their bodies tangled together. "What are you two _doing_?"

"Playing a game!" the two boys chirped, both falling down and laughing hysterically.

"That's a game?" Mercier asked sceptically. "How do you play?"

"Well," Coupeau said, standing up and brushing himself off, "you see the colored dots on the ground? You pick a spot and an arm or a leg, and the other person must try to put that body part on it."

"It's quite difficult," Chauvelin said, patting a blue dot that they had painted on the floor. "You get tangled up with the other person, and it makes it very difficult to reach."

"Wait, hold on." Mercier said, gripping his head. He leftfor fifteen minutes…those boys couldn't be left alone. "You put your hands on colored dots on the floor?"

Coupeau nodded happily. "I invented it!"

"That's the dumbest thing I have ever heard. Who would want to play something like that?"

"It's fun," Chauvelin said, laying down on the ground. "It's actually the best thing that Coupeau has ever come up with. Lots of fun at a party, I would imagine. Think of how easy it would be to 'fall down' on top of a girl this way. It's a great game! I imagine it will catch on very quickly."

"Chauvelin, really. Colored dots? No one in their right mind would ever play that."

Chauvelin shrugged. "Ah well. It seemed like a good idea. Oh!" He quickly got to his feet and ran to the table, rummaging through a heap of papers. "I made a new commandment."

"Chauvelin, do we really need any more?" Coupeau asked quietly, tapping his foot upon a red dot on the floor. "We already have three…"

"Yes, and how many does God have? Ten? Coupeau, we must at least match that." Pulling out the paper that he was searching for, he cleared his throat and read, "Commandment four: Thou shall avoid the church and its water-throwing priests as though they have the plague."

"But, Chauvelin," Coupeau said quietly, "they don't have the plague."

"_As though they have the plague_, you stupid boy! _As though_! What's wrong with you?" He opened his mouth to answer, but Chauvelin waived his hand and quickly said, "No, no. Never mind. Don't answer that." Peering at the two boys, he slowly drawled, "Alright. Good rule, yes?"

Mercier shrugged. "That's not much different from what we already do. I don't see how it hurts to make a rule out of it."

"I don't like it, Chauvelin!"

"Too bad. Two to one, we outvote you."

Coupeau blinked at the smug boy in confusion. "You what?"

"You know. Voted?" Chauvelin said, annoyed. "What the majority of the group says is what happens." His chest swelling, he proudly stated, "I invented it! It's a great idea, isn't it? I imagine all of France will be using my idea once they hear about it!"

"Is this anything like your liberte, egalite, fraternite idea?" Mercier asked in a horribly cynical tone. "Because if it is, you know as well as I that it's never going to happen."

"So you don't think that my 'Get rid of the King' plan is going to work either then, huh?"

"No. No, not ever."

"Damned shame. I had such a great idea of how to go about doing it too." Chauvelin looked between the two boys and sighed heavily. "Oh, boys, you ruin all my fun. There is nothing to do in this stupid place. Let's leave."

"What?" Coupeau asked, a touch shocked. He knew that he wanted to leave, but… "Chauvelin, must we? I've…I've actually come to like Calais. Quite a bit."

"Actually, yes, we're leaving. Now. Come, get your things."

"Chauvelin, now? Oh please, just a bit longer!"

The pale-eyed boy groaned and plunked down in the chair. "Fine. A bit longer wouldn't hurt, I suppose. And I have been neglecting to learn English, and I can only insult people. I may as well learn the rest now. We leave as soon as I am fluent and literate." The two boys sighed in relief, and Chauvelin picked up a book. "That means a week at the most."

"A week, Chauvelin?" Mercier asked before laughing out loud. "Good heavens, what are you thinking? It took you longer than that to just learn to read and write your own language, let alone learning an entirely new one!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mercier," Chauvelin said dispassionately, eyes quickly scanning the text of the book. "French is an elaborate and complicated language. Of course it took a while to learn. But English, what is that? Honestly, if the British can speak it, how hard can it be?"

A defeated sigh. "Whatever you say, Chauvelin."

"Good. And now, if you boys will be so kind as to excuse me, I have a language to learn." Propping his feet upon the table, he leaned back and quietly perused the book, occasionally flipping the pages, sometimes scowling in frustration or grinning in delight.

Watching the boy for a few moments in silence, Mercier and Coupeau looked at each other, shrugged, and left the house to find something to do while their esteemed leader wrestled with English. "Do you suppose," Coupeau asked after they walked to the dock in silence, "that what Chauvelin says will ever happen?"

"Hmm? Like what?"

"You know, voting, equality for the people, that sort of thing."

Mercier shook his head. "I hope, but I doubt it. The aristocrats won't give up their power willingly, and they could crush and sort of rebellion or fight we put up. They do so all the time anyway."

"But we have more people!" Coupeau cried excitedly. "There are thousands of us and not many aristos. If we all just came together and fight-"

"They have the military, Coupeau. The whole damn army. And what do we have? A couple dirty kids with a hat. Yeah, some leaders of the people."

"Chauvelin can read…"

"Great. We'll throw clever words at the military. Oh, I am quite sure they will be frightened beyond compare."

He cast his eyes at the ground and they walked in silence again to the end of the pier, sat down, and dangled their feet over the edge. "What do you think Paris is like?" Coupeau asked quietly.

"Big, I suppose. I imagine we shall know soon."

"Do you think that England is over there?" the green eyed boy asked, pointing across the water.

"One can only assume."

Coupeau grinned and rocked back and forth. "This is the closest I have ever been to another country! Do you think we will ever go to England?"

"No," Mercier said flatly. "No, never. Chauvelin hates the English too much, and we have no reason to leave France. No sir, no England for us."

"Oh. Well, that's too bad." Coupeau said, actually a bit sadly.

"And why is that?"

Coupeau pointed back to a place where a large yacht was tied. "That boy over there I think was speaking English. He's kinda cute. I should like to meet him."

Mercier fell back, his head hitting the dock with a thud. "That's all you ever think about, isn't it?"

"All you and Chauvelin ever think about is women!" Coupeau cried in his defence. "How is this any different from what you do?"

"I don't know, Coupeau…" Mercier groaned, putting his hand over his eyes to block out the sun. "Maybe because we are at least acting in a normal fashion?"

"I'm going to go talk to him," Coupeau said, standing up and turning around.

"You dolt, if he's English, he probably doesn't speak French. How the hell do you expect to communicate?"

Coupeau stopped, stuttered a bit and modestly sat back down. "I think you have a point there…" Looking back at the boy and frowning slightly, he said, "I guess he probably isn't like me either, huh?"

"Coupeau, no one is quite like you."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He threw a quick glance back at the boy and whispered, "But what if…" Coupeau quickly stood up and pulled a complaining Mercier to his feet. "Come on. We're going to go ask Chauvelin."

"Ask Chauvelin about what?"

"Idiot, about him!" Coupeau said, pointing to the fair-haired Englishman. "If I can't have Chauvelin, then I want him, and Chauvelin is always really good about seeing what people are up to." Pulling the boy behind him, he flushed slightly as he passed the object of his current swing of affections, and dragged Mercier home.

He threw open the door to find Chauvelin screaming and cursing, a half empty bottle of wine on the table. "I think, Coupeau, we should come back at a later time," Mercier said quietly, nudging the boy back outside, but Coupeau wouldn't budge.

"No, he might not be here later." Bravely marching inside, he asked, "Chauvelin, what's wrong?"

"English! A language so stupid, only idiots can understand! Damn Englishmen and their damn rules…I before E my ass…"

"Chauvelin, I think I found someone for me!"

"Oh good, Coupeau!" he said cheerfully, dropping any previous anger. "Would your mother approve?"

Coupeau's face dropped. "No…"

"Most excellent. Tell me about him," he slurred, plunking down and taking another swig of the wine.

"Um, well, Chauvelin…he's…an Englishman…"

Chauvelin stared at him violently for a moment before shrugging and leaning back. "You have my blessings. All Englishmen are queer, don't you know."

"What?" Mercier said from the doorway. "Chauvelin, no they're not. That's impossible."

"See? There's why you're stupid." Grabbing Coupeau by the arm, he stumbled out of the house. "Come. I'll show you. And I've always wanted to practice my English." Coupeau whimpered; this wasn't going to be good, especially since he wanted to get into the Englishman's pants. This would be bad for his prospects.

They marched out onto the dock, and Chauvelin looked bleary eyed around. "Alright, which one?" Coupeau looked around and timidly pointed to the boy from earlier, now standing at the end of the pier and looking into the water. Puffing his chest in pride and every inch of arrogance he possessed, Chauvelin sauntered to the boy and tapped him on the shoulder. "You're very pretty for a foreigner," he slurred in slightly accented but well-spoken English.

The boy was shocked to say the least, and his light green eyes filled with curiosity as he looked over the slightly swaying Frenchman. Smiling and blushing slightly, he quietly responded, "Why, thank you. You yourself are rather handsome."

"Don't 'imperialist pig' _me_, my good man!" Chauvelin snapped, thrusting his finger in the boy's face, confusing the boy even more.

"I-I'm terribly sorry," the boy stammered, trying to understand what just happened. "Did I offend you?"

"Oh no, I've always enjoyed simple-minded ethnic humor."

"My good man, I think you have been drinking a bit too much," the boy said cautiously, not wanting to incur whatever fits this man was capable of.

"I may be drunk," the boy said, hiccupping slightly and rocking back and forth, "but tomorrow I'll be sober, and you will still be ugly."

"I would very much like to meet you again when you are sober," the boy said, looking over the dark man again. Digging through his pocket, he withdrew a coin and placed it in the boy's palm.

Chauvelin looked at it, held it up, and was still confused. "How much is this in real money?" Taking note of the boy's look, he quickly said, "No, no, never mind. Where are you from?"

"England."

"Ah, England," Chauvelin said, nodding knowingly. "I have been there once. Your country has such lovely dirt."

"I, well-"

"Stupid uncultured lout," Chauvelin said, grumbling as he walked away, leaving a very shocked boy at the end of the pier.

Coupeau jumped as his friend started walking back. He quickly grabbed his arm and excitedly asked, "Chauvelin, what did he say?"

"I really can't remember, but I can assure you he's homo," Chauvelin slurred as she staggered back to the house. "I'm going to bed. Stupid English…"

Coupeau was elated and ran up to the boy, panting slightly and smiling hopefully. "Je t'aime!"

The boy looked at this new one in utter confusion; he didn't speak French. But still, the boy was attractive…. Returning the smile, he quietly asked, "My good man, I don't speak French. Can you speak English at all?"

Coupeau froze. He had forgotten that he couldn't communicate. "Tu ne parles pas francaise…" he began, but meekly trailed off. Of course he didn't speak French, or the boy would have done so to begin with. "Merde…"

No English. The boy sighed. "Well, so much for that…"

The auburn-haired child panicked. The boy was starting to leave. Not knowing what to do, he grabbed the boy by the shoulders and firmly kissed him. The boy quickly pulled away, and Coupeau's face fell as the light green eyes showed nothing but shock, but the boy smiled, and did the same to the small man. They didn't know how long they stood like that, but when they pulled away, they were breathless. Smiling softly, the little Frenchman laid his hand on his chest and softly whispered, "Coupeau."

Looking at him in confusion for a second, the other soon recognized what he was doing and laid his hand upon his own chest. "Elton."

"Elton…" Coupeau grinned and tenderly hugged the boy. After a moment, he pointed toward his house, his head leaning against the other's so that he could make sure he saw where he was pointing.

Understanding what he was trying to do, Elton pointed at the place the other indicated, smiling softly as the dark green eyes lit up. He did the same, and the two had an understanding. Softly kissing him, he gently took his hand for a moment and turned away to fetch his things from his parent's yacht.

Grinning in absolute joy, Coupeau skipped down the pier, grabbing a rather stunned Mercier's hand and pulling him back to the house. He had to tell Chauvelin.

Mercier shook his head. "I don't understand. The queer gets a lover before me. Ridiculous."


	13. So Long And Good Riddance

**Let it be known that Elton, in the musical, is reffered to as "The Gay Bounder". I'm not kidding.**

**And The Dream of Paris Preys on My Bones**

**Chapter 13: So Long And Good Riddance**

When Coupeau and Mercier entered the house, they found Chauvelin held by soldiers, an annoyed look on his face as he was being frisked by one of them. "Hey, Coupeau. I discovered something new," Chauvelin said in a bored manner. "Soldiers are queer also."

The soldier that was searching the boy backhanded him without hesitation and continued searching. "Chauvelin, what are they doing?" Coupeau asked in shock.

"Preparing me for sex, I think." He was hit again and the highly annoyed boy growled, "Hey, you wanna stop touching the face? I need that." Rolling his eyes as the soldier didn't respond, he said, "I think they're arresting me. Some nonesuch about insulting the clergy, the Royal Army, and a British aristocrat. Haven't the faintest idea where they got that from."

"Arresting you?" Mercier asked. "Chauvelin, that's not a good thing."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it will be quite the adventure." Turning his face up to one of the soldiers that held him, he nonchalantly said, "Oh, hey, when you're done with whatever it is you are doing, there's a corpse on my bed. Would you mind changing the sheets for me?"

"Monsieur, please," Coupeau said politely, stepping a bit closer to one of the soldiers. "My friend has been drinking, and he usually doesn't, and he's never acted like this before. Could you just let him go, and we could talk about this?"

"Don't try reasoning with them, Coupeau," Chauvelin said, squirming a bit at the soldier began examining his lower extremity. "Anyone can see that these soldiers are subhumans who can't find their own ass with a roadmap."

The two boys winced as this time, their leader was hit repeatedly. "Chauvelin, I think you are only making things worse for yourself," Mercier said, cringing as the boy's arm was wrenched up behind him.

"Yes, that is entirely possible…" Gold eyes widening in remembrance, he quickly cried, "Oh, Coupeau! How did it go with the Englishman?"

Coupeau blushed, smiled happily and stared modestly at the ground. "I think he likes me, Chauvelin! He…he kissed me, and told me his name…"

"See? Didn't I tell you all Englishmen were queer?" The soldier quickly stood up and barked a command to the others and pushed the boy forward. "I think that means I'm going now. I shall see you boys soon."

"Chauvelin, we're going to come by and get you, alright?" Mercier said reassuringly to the confident boy who needed no reassurance.

"Take your time boys. I am quite sure I am capable of getting out. But mark my word, once I do, we're leaving."

The soldiers growled and shoved him out the door.

…

Chauvelin decided very quickly that he did not quite like prison, and he did not quite like his cellmates. The other three men were huge and menacing, and the dark haired boy only came up to the armpit of the shortest one. The soldiers were quite detestable as well, and they quickly took to mocking the little boy, which only got them a sharp tongued response that earned the young prisoner several beatings. Sighing slightly after being returned to his cell after his fourth beating that day, Chauvelin slunk down into the corner.

Smiling to each other, one of the men approached the boy and took Chauvelin by the arm, easily lifting him and holding him off the ground. "My, my, aren't you a pretty little thing?"

Chauvelin didn't struggle, just looked blankly into the other's eyes. Really, it had been quite a horrendous day. "Would you mind putting me down, Monsieur? I am not in the finest of tempers."

"Oh, look at that, boys! He's well spoken. And he's fair enough to be a woman…"

Chauvelin hissed in irritation and rolled his eyes as the man roughly ran his free hand over his body. "I swear, you queer folk are just all over, aren't you?"

The man instantly became angry and hit the young thing, leaving an instant welt on his ribs. "Well, you've got quite a tongue on you, don't you?"

"So I have been told. It's all over the papers. Learn to read, monkey boy."

The three men were instantly upon him, inflicting whatever pain they could on his fragile form before the jail guards came by and forced the men off of him. Quickly springing to his feet and gingerly pressing at a bloody nose, Chauvelin ran to the bars and called to the soldiers, "I wish to complain."

"Oh? And what would that be about?"

"Are all of your jails this filthy?" He sniffed slightly, causing some blood to run far back his nose and he gagged, coughed it out. "Really. What a stench. Oh, and could I have some food that the rats haven't found? I'm thin enough as it is."

The soldiers looked at each other before laughing, causing the little boy to glower in anger. "Who do you think you are? Some sort of nobility? You're the lowest of the low, and that's why you're here."

"Nobility? Ha! I spit on the nobility and royalists such as yourselves! Yes sir, you folks certainly have made a mess of this country." The soldiers went red with rage and with cries of "Treason!" the pointed their riffles at the fearless boy. "Oh, sure, you're going to shoot me, right?"

There was a momentary halt as the captain marched in and looked disapprovingly at both the soldiers and the ragged prisoner. "There is a health inspector of sorts here," he said in an irritated tone. "Stop what you're doing and resume your activities once the nuisance has left."

The soldiers were about to protest but the door at the far end swung open and a doctor strode in, hardly stopping to look at anyone at all. On occasion, there would cross a look of curiosity on his face that broke his bored expression, and he would look a little more carefully at the individual, but he would continue walking. Coming to a quick stop outside the cell that held Chauvelin, he looked the boy over once and commanded, "Open this door. That boy shouldn't be here."

Scowling in contempt, the soldier said, "This one is guilty of treason. He goes nowhere."

"This boy," the man stated firmly, "is, I think, in bad health and should not be here." Motioning for the boy to come closer, he asked, "How old are you, boy?"

"I forget, but I think around fifteen or so."

"Fifteen! Open this door." The guard grudgingly did as he was told and the doctor instantly seized the boy, examining him carefully. "Fifteen and the boy is hardly the size of a twelve year old! Look at this! He cannot be more than five feet in height, and look at how thin he is. You can see every bone in the poor thing's body. I think we have here a case of severe malnutrition, hardly the type to be kept in a jail of all places." Nudging the boy out of the cell, he said, "I can return him when he is in proper health, but I cannot allow him to be treated like this." And with that, he took the grinning Chauvelin away.

…

"That was rather clever," Chauvelin said as he swung his legs happily from where he sat on the examination table. "However did you think of that?"

"Well," Coupeau said quietly, standing hand in hand with his Englishman, "it was actually a communication error. I tried to have Elton help me find a lock pick, but he took it as I needed a doctor. So I went along with that."

"Ah. Clever. Really, very clever. I imagine that your Englishman shall be rather skilled at removing people from their jail cells if he keeps this up."

Coupeau smiled and hugged the boy, leaning his head against his shoulder. "I know. Isn't that great?"

"Hey! Englishman!" Chauvelin barked, causing the young blonde to jump slightly. "Speak French!" he said in perfect English.

"I can't," the boy responded. "I am here to learn. Why don't you learn to speak proper English? It is an insult to abuse it as you do."

"Have you ever considered that _we_ might be insulted because _you_ haven't learned French?" Chauvelin sneered, squirming as the doctor poked him.

"Can you only insult people?"

"What else is English good for?" Switching back to French he said, "Coupeau, are you ready to leave yet?"

Pulling Elton closer, he whispered, "I don't wanna leave…"

"Too bad, we're going. The soldiers want me in jail, and all the women here are taller than me. We must retreat to a place where the people are a bit shorter. Kiss your friend goodbye, because we're leaving as soon as doctor here feeds me."

"Where are we going?"

"Paris. Where else?"

Coupeau's face fell. "Alright," he said quietly as he gently pulled Elton outside with him, just as Mercier walked inside. "Chauvelin, how are you?"

"Doctor says I don't get enough food, so we have to eat more. I thought of a new commandment."

"Wonderful," he said, rolling his eyes. "Does it have anything to do with jail?"

"You bet," the boy said, nodding. "Commandment five: Thou shall not enter a prison. Ever."

"It's a good commandment."

"I thank you. We're going to Paris."

"Well, that sounds like fun."

"I had an idea," Chauvelin said proudly. "I'm going to go into politics!"

Mercier stared at the boy for a minute in silence before laughing out loud. "Politics! Chauvelin, you're as much of a politician as Coupeau and I are soldiers!"

"Bah!" He gingerly examined an open wound he had on his side. "I think I don't quite like getting beaten."

"Neither do I, my friend."

"I shall have to exact some form of revenge on royalist soldiers someday."

"You and what army, Chauvelin?"

The boy grinned. "Me and all of France!" he said proudly.

Sighing slightly, Mercier ran his hand over his face and calmly said, "Sure you will, Chauvelin. And Coupeau will like women and I will have your hat."

"Just you wait, Mercier. You'll see." He leaned back, closed his eyes, and waited for the doctor to come and fix him.

…

After twenty minutes of walking, Chauvelin had finally had enough and smote Coupeau with all his strength. "For the very _last_ time, Coupeau, who cares! He was _just_ an Englishman!"

"But we were so happy together!"

"Yeah, for one whole day. Good for you. Excuse me while I vomit over your sentiments."

"But, Chauvelin!" the boy whined, sniffling. "I loved him!"

"New commandment!" Chauvelin yelled in the boy's face. "Thou. Shall. Not. Fall. In. Love! Is that clear?"

Coupeau nodded sadly. "He…he gave me a paper…" he said softly, fishing through his pockets and holding it out to the boy.

Glaring at him, and then at the note, he snatched it away and quickly looked it over and thrust it back in the boy's hand. "It's just an address. If you would get your wits together and learn how to read and write, you could keep in touch with the fellow."

"Really? Oh, Chauvelin, will you teach me?"

Nodding, he said, "Of course. Both you and Mercier should learn." Turning to his blonde compatriot, he smoothly drawled, "You've been awfully quite."

"Have I any reason to speak?" he coldly asked.

"You usually do."

"Huh."

"Oh, hey, I sold that house of ours for fifty Francs!" Chauvelin cried happily. "We made thirty five francs while we were here, not including all of the money I took out of the money dish at the church." He glanced at Mercier. No reaction. "I think," he said slyly, "that Mercier is irritated."

Snarling, he replied, irritated, "I am not."

"Oh, look at that. Point Chauvelin. I am winning."

"Will you just stop it?"

Chauvelin stared at the boy, a sly look crossing his face. "Oh, I get it. This has to do with the women, doesn't it?"

"It does not!"

"It does! Ha!" Chuckling to himself, he quietly asked, "Have you had any women since we came to Calais?" The boy didn't respond, and Chauvelin's grin grew wider. "Frustrated because of the tragic lack of women. I call this phenomenon, 'Sexual Frustration'." Glancing at the furious boy's expression and the timid boy blushing and staring at the ground, a deliciously wicked idea formed in his head. "I don't like you when you're frustrated, Mercier…"

"Shut up."

Grabbing Coupeau's hand and thrusting it into Mercier's he said, beaming, "Take him."

Both sets of eyes widening in confusion and disbelief, the choked, "What?"

"You," he said, pointing at Mercier, "take him," and pointed at Coupeau. "I doubt that our little friend here had the time to sleep with his Englishman, and I am quite sure he could use it as well. And besides," he purred, leering wickedly at the blushing men, "you two have been close before, hmm?"

"I'm not queer!"

"I don't love him!"

"Ah, but boys," Chauvelin said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disapproval, "it's a commandment. 'If in need, thou shall use thy homo friends to sooth thy frustration.'"

Mercier glared in fury at the yellow-eyed boy, and Coupeau blushed furiously. Chauvelin just smiled.

…

He lay on the ground, shoulders resting on a tree and hat pulled over his eyes, smiling softly and listening to the distant grunts, moans, whimpers and cries that occasionally drifted through the air. The forest was a wonderful thing. The cries for a moment escalated, and then suddenly stopped, and but five minutes later, Mercier and Coupeau emerged, readjusting themselves and breathing heavily, both still flushed and dishevelled. Standing up and smiling, he put his hand on Mercier's shoulder. "Feeling better?"

The blonde said nothing, but nodded slightly as he stared at the ground.

"Oh good!" Humming softly to himself, he led the boys back out of the forest and to the road. "Ah, on the road again, hmm?"

"So it would seem," Mercier said, smiling a bit to himself.

"See, now you're better. Great commandment, if I do say so myself. On the road again…that would make for a good song, wouldn't it?"

Mercier shook his head. "No, no I don't think so. Who would listen to a song about travelling?"

"I would!" Coupeau chirped. "On the road again. It sounds catchy!"

"No, that's a horrible idea," Mercier repeated. "Really, quite awful."


End file.
